March of the Inevitable: Ninety Nine Blades
by SpartAl412
Summary: Throughout the lands of Thedas, strange occurrences have been happening after a single unusual night. Strangers from another land and another place, drawn by fate now embark on their own quests to find their way home. Unknown to them all, greater powers are at play as the fate of worlds are now upon their hands.
1. Dance of Fire

Wrapping his hands around the beer-filled pewter mug that had been set before him, Daylen nervously looked up to the barmaid who served him, she was very pretty and was probably be about the same age as himself. She gave Daylen a generous but slightly forced smile that made him a bit giddy as he resisted the urge of having his eyes linger too much on her overly exposed cleavage. A soft chuckle of amusement was heard from his hooded companion who sat across him with hands wrapped around her own pewter mug as well while ignoring the suspicious looks from the people around them.

They sat at the corner of an inn called the Dancing Cow which was situated along the borders of Nevarra and Anderfel. For some time now they had been travelling with no real destination in mind other than to stay one step away from their pursuers. The best place he could think of was maybe the Tevinter Imperium, the Frostback mountains or even Rivain but all of these places were very far away from where they were now.

'Why don't you go for it?' asked his companion in an oddly accented Ander with a teasing tone and a sly look which made Daylen look away with some embarrassment as his cheeks reddened.

While Daylen was dressed in the simple sort of clothing which was no different from what the common folk in the region wore, his companion on the other hand was dressed in a manner which truly stood out from the crowd. His companion wore a hooded cloak and robes of dark red with bright orange around the bottom of the skirt which formed a fiery pattern and bright brass thread lining the end of her garments. His companion's arms were laid bare and from what he could of the fair skin of her limbs was that they were heavily covered in crimson runes and writing of some arcane tongue which he did not know and it occasionally make a soft to a very bright glow.

His companion also wore several pieces of exquisitely expensive looking jewelry which was composed of an amulet with a bright bronze lace of intertwined miniature chains which connected to several glowing rubies which gave off a feeling of warmth. She also wore a pair of bracelets, a circlet and two rings which were made from the same metals and gems and on her belt was series of keys which was also prominently displayed on her garments. Leaning on the wall behind his companion was her wooden staff that was ringed with runic iron bands and the top of it was a cage like that of a brazier and a sheathed sword which she called a _Kriegsmesser_.

For weeks now, the newly apostate mage, Daylen had been travelling with one, Melusine Von Schtauffen, a strange foreign sorceress who claimed to belong to a group called the Bright Order which was supposedly part of some other organization called the Colleges of Magic and a nation known only as The Empire. Having first believed that the woman was insane, he had revised his opinion of them after their recent close calls and the unusual magic which she wielded.

It had been a long journey from Hossberg with many deadly encounters with Darkspawn, brigands, Maleficar who were more interested in their blood and the Templars. The thought of their last encounter with the militant arm of the Chantry in particular was most worrying for the Templars still had his phylactery. It just wasn't fair! He thought for his masters had postponed his Harrowing for too long and already the impatient Knight Commander of the Templars had went ahead and signed official documents that would condemn Daylen to Tranquility.

He felt an oddly warm gloved hand touch his own and he looked to his companion who gave him a soft reassuring smile.

'It will be all right' quietly whispered Melusine whose fiery red eyes had an slight glow to them.

He had no idea how she was taking in all of this for she seemed surprisingly calm about it. Whatever was the case, Daylen was glad to have this strange, foreign mage around for he had no doubt that had she not been around, he already would have been dragged back to the Circle and have become an emotionless drone. Fighting had never been Daylen's field of expertise; he was more skilled in the use of Creation Magic, Herbalism and Rune-craft while his companion on the other hand was completely dedicated to the destructive applications of Fire and her own skill in swordsmanship was quite amazing.

Nodding towards his companion, Daylen gave her a soft smile as well and he quietly went back to his drink. The two of them continued to sit there, enjoying the beer and they waited for the cheap meals which they had ordered and the band of four minstrels begin to play a song from their instruments. Melusine's attention was quickly drawn towards the band of musical performers for his companion seemed to have quite the soft spot for it.

One of the Minstrels, an extravagantly dressed Orlesian man began singing about the heroism of the Grey Wardens which found its spot among the patrons from the Anderfels. It was a very rousing song which filled his heart with a sense of pride for the song told about even when things were at their darkest, all one needed was courage and faith to persevere. Soon the voices of the crowd joined the singing bard like a choir and when it ended there was a loud round of applause from those within the establishment, especially from his companion.

'I miss watching performances like that' commented Melusine as she sat back down 'do people here have playhouses or operas in Hossberg?'

'I am sure they have many in Orlais' shrugged Daylen for he honestly had never been out of the tower often when he was still in the Circle.

'If ever we manage to make it back to The Empire, I will treat you to a show at The Vargr Breughel Memorial Playhouse' said Melusine with a warm smile.

'I will take you up on that, if we do' replied Daylen rather shyly for he did also find that his companion was quite attractive despite looking perhaps a decade or so older than he was.

'Oh you will love Altdorf, I just know it' said Melusine 'there are no places like it anywhere else in the Old World and-'

A loud crash was heard as the front door of the inn was knocked down and five armored knights barged in with each one bearing the flaming sword insignia barged of the Templars.

'There are the apostates!' roared one of the knights as he drew a sword and pointed it towards both Daylen and Melusine. His companion had an amused look on her face as she took one last gulp from her mug and she stood pushed her seat back and stood up.

'Be a little pig and watch my weapons will you?' said Melusine with a confident look as she adjusted her short runic leather gloves which reached up to her wrists and Daylen took a big gulp of his own drink while deciding on whether he should do as she said or make a run for it. Melusine sauntered towards the Templars who began to converge upon them with weapons drawn while the patrons of the inn began to get out of the way or head straight to the front door.

'No need for violence now _Mein_ _Herren_ ' spoke Melusine towards the Templars who already had their weapons raised in defensive stances 'can we just forget all of this and enjoy this fine night?'

'Be silent Apostate!' shouted one of the Templars who wielded an enchanted sword that was wreathed in fire 'surrender now and we may show you clemency.'

'Tempting, but we have a saying back in The Empire for situations like this' replied Melusine with a confident tone as she pulled down her hood to reveal her wavy red hair with a single thick lock that went down along the right side of her face and she extended her hands to her sides. 'Death or Glory' was all she said before swiftly leaping back to avoid any strikes and she began whispering words of power which drew energy from the several pieces of jewelry which she wore.

A sword of pure flames materialized on her right hand while the left grabbed a mug of ale which had been abandoned by one of the patrons. Splashing the drink towards the nearest templar, she splattered the helmet of the knight with the liquid and she immediately worked a spell that caused the alcoholic drink to ignite. The templar screamed in pain as some of the beer had gotten into his visor and the subsequent flames kissed the skin around his eyes before the flaming sword cleaved a great rent across his chest.

The other Templars were quick to attack Melusine but their movements were hampered by the weight of their plate armor as well as the wooden chairs and tables of the inn which were being knocked over. Melusine moved with a clinical degree of agility which she claimed to have learned from the _Reik Schule Kunst des Fechtens_. Knocking tables and chairs in the path of the Templars to impede their movements, the Wizard of the Bright Order continued to speak words of power and she extended her left hand towards the Templars and upon the palm of her hand, a cackling skull made from pure flame materialized and it flew towards the Templars.

The burning skull passed through one Templar, causing the knight to stagger but he remained standing while the fellow behind him proved to be unlucky for the flames super heated his armor and caused the Templar to be cooked inside of it. Melusine then casted another spell which wreathed her in flames and she dashed towards the Templars with her flaming sword in hand. The first Templar she engaged in melee managed to swing his sword towards her and Melusine expertly parried it before unleashing a gout of flame from her mouth like a dragon.

The Templar burned from the flames of Daylen's companion and she quickly grabbed a plate from a nearby table and she hurled it at another Templar who quickly raised his shield up to block it. Melusine then pointed her left index finger towards the feet of the Templar and with another spell, she caused the floorboard beneath him to begin smoldering and before the knight knew it, the weight of his armor caused it to collapse underneath him.

The last Templar who remained standing was the one who carried a flaming sword. He had earlier been struck by the burning skull and the man had been busy putting out the fires which had incinerated the skirt worn over his leg plates.

'Now what was that about surrendering?' asked Melusine in a mocking tone as she still stood wreathed in flames while the sword of fire was still held in her right hand.

'Abomination!' declared the Templar with accusation 'you are not just some Apostate! You are Demon of the Fade in disguise!'

Melusine then began to laugh with genuine amusement which seemed all the more mocking for there were times when Daylen thought that there was something truly unnatural about his companion which went beyond more than just being a mage.

'I have fought and slain many demons, _Herr_ Templar' replied Melusine in a cold tone 'I have conflagrated barbarian champions of the Ruinous Powers, savage warlords of the greenskins, undead horrors that stalk the night, piratical elves from across the ocean and the dwarves of the dark east.' Melusine then raised her fiery sword and pointed it at the Templar and she said 'take this message to your fellows, do not follow us for if you do, then I will be less than merciful.'

'I will not! Witch!' shouted the Templar with Defiance as he charged at Melusine who then began to cast another spell.

Daylen's eyes widened with shock as he saw his companion stood her ground and the Templar thrust his flaming sword towards her with the tip aimed at her gut and in the last moment, she stepped aside to her right and she spun around towards his back while slapping the side of his helmeted head. The Templar then turned around to face Melusine and he suddenly dropped his burning sword before falling to his knees and screaming quite horribly in extreme agony.

Throughout the fight, a smell that was disturbingly akin to roasting pork had begun to fill the inn and as the battle progressed, it only became stronger. Now though, the smell seemed more like someone had overcooked some meat and Daylen saw steam rising from the visor of the Templar's helmet before a loud disgustingly wet crack resounded from the knight along with his armor which instantly expanded and was bent out of shape. The Templar collapsed to the floor with steaming blood gushing out from the disfigured helmet's visor and it poured out from the rest of the armored body.

Melusine then extinguished the flames around her and she whispered words of power that did the same to the fires that had begun to spread within the inn. She then picked up the dead Templar's fiery sword and she studied it with a look of approval.

'Excuse me there, innkeeper' said Melusine as she looked to the bar of the inn where the owner of the establishment fearfully cowered behind the counter. 'Sorry about the mess' shrugged Melusine towards them before looking to the Templar she had just killed 'I am sure these fellows can help pay for the damages.'

The innkeeper of course said nothing for he was simply too scared of the woman and even Daylen himself was more than a bit afraid as well of his companion.

'So, are you hungry?' asked Melusine in a disturbingly cheerful tone which always seemed to come after a fight 'I suddenly have a craving for something like a Schnitzel or maybe some Bratwurst…'


	2. The Golden Hawk

The smell of ashes and death surrounded Yasmine as she walked amongst the ruins of the town with bow and arrow at the ready. The buildings of the settlement had been reduced to charred wreckage like the previous ones she had seen, the snow upon the ground was also blackened with patches of blood here and there. It did not take long for the former Badlands Rangers who now wore thick furs under a somewhat tattered grass green cloak to find the bodies of those who once inhabited this place.

Crows pecked at the scorched flesh of men, women and children as their bodies were impaled upon great wooden stakes and put on display around a desecrated statue of some woman who certainly did not look like the Lady of the Lake, Shallya, Rhya or any other goddess she knew of. Despite having seen many horrors like this in the Border Princes and elsewhere in her travels, it was something which she found difficult to either forget or get used to. She then heard the heavy footsteps of her companions and she could imagine the rage the burned within him.

The thick dirty brown cloak which her companion wore did little to conceal the bulk of his armour and at the bottom of his garments; she could see the golden boots which he probably didn't even need to wear.

' _Isfet…_ ' came the long, dry whisper of Yasmine's companion.

'You know, I was really hoping that none of those bastards were here as well' spoke the Ranger and her companion silently continued to survey the ruined town.

For days they had been tracking the ones responsible for these massacres and from what Yasmine had gathered from the people of this foreign land who spoke a strange form of Breton and some other language which she did not understand, the ones they hunted were barbarians called Avvars, or something like that. The mayor of the last village they passed claimed the barbarians were never as violent as they were now but in her travels across the Old World, Yasmine knew all too well what madness could drive men to such depravity.

A sudden movement from one of the ruined houses instantly drew the attention of the Ranger and in a blink of an eye, she had an arrow knocked and ready as her companion drew his heavy twin blades. A gasp and a whimper was heard from the ruins as a small figure peaked its head out and quickly went back into hiding.

'I think it is a child' said Yasmine to her companion with some surprise and a bit of unease for the few survivors they did find had either been driven mad or left behind by the barbarians to suffer a slow and excruciatingly painful death which they probably thought was amusing.

Lowering her bow and arrow, Yasmine called to the child and received no response. She tried again and when she heard nothing, she looked back and nodded to her companion. The Ranger silently crept towards the ruins, the years of surviving close to the Badlands had taught her to be skilled in the way of tracking and stealth.

When she got close to the ruins, Yasmine heard a pained, child-like voice speak 'go away!' Peeking out from behind a blackened column of wood, she partially saw a child of indeterminate gender whose left eye looked to the Ranger with fear. 'Please, you must go away' the child then said with desperation.

'Hey, it's all right, shh' said Yasmine as she attempted to calm the child 'Are you hurt? Is anyone still alive?'

'You must go' repeated the child whose face was soon fully revealed to Ranger as disgust and horror suddenly began to well up within her. The right side of the child's face was horrifically burned with pieces of bone that were sticking out.

'Rhya's Teats!' swore Yasmine in horror as she took a step back.

'Please go, before the bad men come back' said the diseased child and she heard the soft sound of boots crunching down upon snow. Quickly looking back to her companion with an alarmed looked, she saw his hooded head sweep around in search of their ambushers before a thrown axe slammed into his chest.

Her companion staggered back but was hardly harmed as his magic armour took the blow and he quickly regained his footing as several of the murderers responsible for the massacre came into view. They were savage-looking, fur clad man who covered themselves in soot and ashes as bloody skulls dangled from their belts. They were mostly equipped with axes and spears which looked to be of an excellent craftsmanship, blasphemous sigils and runes were etched upon their bare flesh or equipment as they spat and hollered at them in some foreign tongue, Yasmine even noticed how more than a few of them had ritualistic scars or tattoos that formed all too familiar sigils which were painful to look upon.

Yasmine's companion then pulled back his hood to reveal the golden hawk-shaped war mask which covered his withered features and he dramatically cast aside his cloak. The ancient warrior whom Yasmine had been travelling with was equipped with a heavy suit of golden scale armour that was decorated with symbols resembling a hawk in flight. The few pieces of moldering ancient bandages that could be seen on his limbs was the only indication of her companion's true nature for more were wrapped around his body, beneath the armoured scales along with the gauntlets and greaves which he wore.

'I am Rahkan-hotep, barbarians!' roared the ancient warrior, one of the dreaded Tomb Kings of distant Nehekhara as he raised one of his twin glaive-like blades towards one group and shouted 'let justice in Phakth's name be done!' The glaives ignited with golden fire which supposedly only did so when those who were black of heart were nearby. The barbarians savagely roared the name of some foul deity and they rushed to Rahkan all at once.

With axe raised high and spears aimed towards Rahkan-hotep's body, the Tomb King sprinted towards the closest of them with unnatural speed as he reconfigured his weapon by attaching both ends to one another. One barbarian thrust his spear forwards and Rahkan-hotep easily swatted it aside with the top blade of his weapon before the bottom one swung up and cleaved the barbarian from groin to throat.

A barbarian roared and charged towards Yasmine who coolly faced her attacker with an arrow knocked and before the man could swing his weapon, the Ranger loosed an arrow that struck him in the throat. Quickly drawing another arrow, Yasmine sighted down on another axe wielder who attacked her and she fired an arrow that hit the man in the gut but still he kept on coming. ' _Merde_!' hissed the Ranger as she dropped her bow and drew a pair of heavy bladed short swords which were quite capable of cutting through orc hide.

The barbarian swung his axe towards the Ranger who ducked under the attack and she stabbed her blades into the meat of his thighs. The axeman roared agony before Yasmine quickly pulled the short swords out delivered a pair of reverse gripped, upwards slashes that ripped her foe's lungs and heart. Quickly backing away from the man she killed, Yasmine had heard the roaring voice of a spearman who lunged at her with the point aiming towards her gut.

With the short swords still held in a reverse grip, the Ranger swung her left blade in a backhand and the blade caught the spear-tip, pushing it aside. Using her attacker's momentum against him she switched the grip of her right blade and she drove it under the barbarian's lower jaw where it sank into the flesh, tongue and up into the roof of the upper jaw. With a good tug and a kick, she freed her blade from the corpse and found no other barbarians to be attacking her as the rest were focused on Rahkan-hotep.

Blood stained the snow around the Tomb King as men died with each sweep of his burning weapon. Such was the skill of Rakhan-hotep that he expertly parried the attacks of the barbarians and with each riposte and count-attack, a body fell with throats slashed, bodies rent and heads or limbs severed. As soon as the fighting began, it was already over for the small group of barbarians who attacked them were killed to the last man and silence descended upon the ruined town once more.

'Are you harmed?' asked the concerned, dry voice of Rahkan.

'I am all right' answered Yasmine who had been a veteran slayer of greenskins for sometime before she even met the undead warrior.

'This is not all of them I believe' spoke the Tomb King as the flames on his blade extinguished and he moved to reclaim his cloak. Nodding to her companion, Yasmine then looked back to see where the child had been but found the youth to be nowhere in sight. She began to call for the child, saying that it was safe until she found the tracks upon the snow that led out of town and further into the cold.

'Come' spoke Rahkan-hotep towards the Ranger 'we must not allow the trail to become cold'

Doubting that the undead warrior even got that pun, Yasmine reluctantly obeyed as she followed Rahkan-hotep. She looked back once last time to try to catch a glimpse of that burned child and ultimately, she found nothing before rejoining her companion. The Ranger swore that when both she and Rahkan-hotep found where these barbarians lived, she would make them pay for the fell deeds they had done.


	3. A Name in the Shadows

Sunlight shines through the opened window where a warm breeze enters my chambers which despite its rather bare décor, I find it to be rather pleasant and comfortable in comparison to the cold forests which cover _Elthin Arvan_. From the outside, I could see a strange city of an alien architecture that I have never seen in my travels across my world, yet when I look down, I see a strange mixture of many creatures that inhabit this place. Some resemble my kin in an albeit smaller and frailer fashion, some are clearly Men but most I see are tall, horned creatures whose heights would rival that of a Kurgan barbarian.

Judging by the way the structure I am residing in was built, I feel confident that it was not meant to be a true prison. Now where the rest of my equipment was though, I am unsure which is rather worrying for without them, I feel very exposed. Taking a deep breath to calm myself I remind myself of the worst situations I have been in over the many years.

I hear footsteps coming from the stone floors outside of my chambers and I turn my head to see who shall be visiting me this day. The intricately carved yet thick and sturdy wooden door opens to reveal a trio of the tall horned creatures, two of which are clad in suites of heavy armour of designs which I have also never seen and wielding large swords which look more than capable of hewing an orc in twain. The third member of the horned ones draws my attention the most, for the creature is quite certainly female and dressed in a manner which despite the lacking of modesty, I find to be rather pleasing to the eyes.

The female one speaks to the armed guards in their native tongue and they obey with a great reverence. I have no idea what these things are called but they certainly are not daemons for they do not bear that air of wrongness about them, I should know of course, for I have much experience in dealing with such malevolent entities. The female horned one then enters my chambers which I am rather sure is actually a prison cell of sorts with them as my captors, if such is that case then it has been at the least, a pleasant stay.

I offer courtly bow to the female creature while briefly taking in her appearance. She was clad in a rather revealing set of garments composed of two pauldrons of hardened leather, a gorget of the same material with a red jewel and golden wire attached to the pauldrons, leather bracers, trousers and two strips of white cloth that cover the creature's breasts. Of the female creature's physical appearance well, let's just say that for the sake of politeness, I would simply say exquisite, especially with those lovely amethyst-like eyes and the haughty bearing which I often see my fellows adopting when dealing with the lesser races.

The horned one nods to me and performs a bowing gesture as well which seems formal, at least my "hosts" have a modicum of civility, hopefully one of a greater degree than Men. Now comes the difficult part for I have attempted to communicate with others of her kind as well the humans as those who somewhat resembled my people and with no success and their tongue is something which is as alien to me as this world for surely I must be in some different place after being dragged into that Chaos Gate and spat out into a place where the Winds of Magic cannot even be felt in the slightest. The female creature slowly begins to speak in a deep yet seductive tone and to my surprise; the words are in a language quite similar to the ones used by humans of The Empire.

'Good morning' the horned female says in a calm and observant manner.

' _Harathoi Lecai_ , a fair greeting to you' I reply with a hint of excitement for I always so do enjoy meeting new people from other races and cultures. The horned one then nods and I could see that she is slowly taking in my words, analyzing it and studying each syllable before continuing.

'On behalf of Kaldaar's inhabitants, they offer you their gratitude' the horned female continues 'and they wish to call you _kadan,_ out of respect for your deeds.'

'I am honoured then' I say while giving a warm smile and remaining both calm and civil as well, by the context which the word is being used, it seems to be an respectful one.

About three nights earlier, after arriving by mishap upon this world, I had come upon a settlement inhabited by a mixture of the same race as the horned woman and other who were in the middle of being raided by Men wearing horned masks. Previously, I along with members of my _Senthanos_ , had been battling against Beastmen alongside Bretonnian knights, of my closest companions, I have no idea if they are well or not but I am confident in their abilities. At first I was unsure if I should get involved in the matter but after witnessing some rather… vile practices the raiders were performing upon the villagers, I decided to intervene with bow and blades.

During the battle I had found an unlikely ally among one of the horned creatures, a rather ragged looking male specimen who fought the horn masked humans with twin short blades. I unfortunately had seriously overestimated the masked humans for they had a sorcerer in their midst who was quite intent with the idea of setting me ablaze. It was difficult battle to be sure but I ended up putting an arrow in the magician's eye and after a bit of hacking and slashing, the rest fled into the jungles after a rather large group of red painted, horned warriors arrived.

Soon afterwards, I found myself surrounded with weapons directed towards me and the horned creatures did not seem very grateful of my appearance, especially towards my "ally" whom one lead looking figure called a " _Tal-Vashoth"_ or something like that. Well after that, I had been disarmed, put in chains, forced to march across the hot jungle, placed in an actual prison cell that was sealed by a stone door while later in the evening I was transferred to my more current quarters which at least had some food and a bath waiting for me. After that, things have been rather comfortable which for my need have been attended to by servants.

'Their respect is all that prevents you from being treated as we do with those who associate with the _Tal-Vashoth_ ' then said the horned woman in the same calm manner and I can imagine that it would not be an amusing thing to be subjected. 'Now tell me' the horned woman then says while leaning forward a little and she asks 'what is your name?'

'Ellarian' I reply formally 'Ellarian Songweaver, of the _Asur_ of Ulthuan, warrior of the _Aesanar_ , the Shadow Warriors of Nagarthye, and what might I call one so fair as yourself?' The horned woman looks at me curiously as I mention the names of my people and the lands of my birth.

'I am of the _Tamassran_ , Those Who Speak' the horned woman then says 'of what you may call me, _Rassan_ will be enough'.

'A pleasure to meet you, _Rassan_ ' I reply with a nod, at least this is going rather smoothly so far.

'And does your name have a meaning?' this _Rassan_ then says with the same calm and stony expression.

'If you can find me a musical instrument, I will be glad to show you' I answer with a friendly smile and still I just get that observing look. 'May I ask a question?' I cautiously then say

'You may' replies Rassan with a nod.

'I do not wish to sound rude, but what are you? And where is this place?' I say and _Rassan_ gives me a puzzled and somewhat surprised look before taking a moment to reclaim her composure.

'You do not know of the Qunari? Or that you are on Seheron?' is her reply and by my guess, the former is the name of her race and the latter must surely be the place I am now in. Offering a shrug, I myself find the idea of being on another world, very hard to believe and to explain it to another; well… that is a higher level of difficulty already. I can see the calculating look on this _Rassan_ 's face and no doubt she is probably wondering whether I am lying or not.

'Then you know not of the _Tal-Vashoth_ then? Or the Serpents That Walk?' she then asked.

'Serpents That Walk?' I reply with alarm and I notice the way this _Rassan_ also notes the way which I reacted.

'Yes' nods _Rassan_ 'the scouts of the _Antaam_ have been reporting of unknown reptilian creatures we have never seen before on Seheron and your sudden appearance at the same time is... suspicious.

'I can tell you now that little care of these, Serpents That Walk' I then say with all honesty 'but if you can describe them to me, I might be able to tell you what I know.'

'Very well then' _Rassan_ replies and she calls to one of the guards outside who leaves his post and hands the horned woman a series of folded parchment papers which she takes with a word in what I guess is a form of gratitude in their tongue before the guard heads back to guard my cell.

We then begin a long series of questioning to which I do my best to answer to the best of my abilities. Hopefully, these Qunari will be friendly enough to let me leave along with my equipment soon, but there is something at the back of my head which tells me that such will not be the case. Well hopefully if it comes down to bloodshed, my own skills would prove to be enough in escaping and finding a way off of this Seheron…


	4. The Den of Serpents

With an intrigued eye did, Numerius Magnus watch the latest spectacle play out. Lying upon an exquisite divan of whitewood which had been imported from Orlais, the Tevinter Magister felt a surge of excitement as his gaze was focused upon the underground arena that lay before him. It was similar to the Proving Arenas which the dwarves of distant Orzammar used for their amusing blood sports but this one was smaller and built for discretion and "private audiences."

The Magister was not alone for a few fellow lords and ladies, relatives of his House who were being tended to by their slaves as they gathered to watch the main event. One of Numerius' cousins, Marcus had recently acquired a most interesting… creature. Heavy iron gates which were built into the walls of the arena were raised as several armed gladiators stepped forward and unto the sands.

The gladiators were nothing more than riff-raff thugs and mercenaries from the streets who were told that they could earn some easy money for a single job, to entertain his House. That was what Numerius liked about sell-swords, you lure them in with promises of gold, little did they know of course was that the entertainment they would provide was the sort which always ended in the Magister not having to give them a single coin in the end. The gladiators then raised their weapons in salute to Numerius and his relatives who began to politely applaud the men who would pay the ultimate price for their amusement.

For a moment, Numerius fancied one particular gladiator, a rather athletically fit and well toned fellow who like all the other gladiators, wore a face concealing iron heavy infantry helmet, a pauldron and armor on the left arm that extended down all the way to the hand, metal boots and a leather kilts. Such a shame that he would be unable to "sample" the fighter but well, that was what the slaves were for. As the gladiators finished receiving their platitudes from the Magisters of Numerius' House, one of his other cousins, a young and ambitious apprentice named, Licinnia stood up and began casting a spell.

Arcane lights that had lit up the arena then began to dim as his cousin cast another spell which would allow the eyes of the audience to pierce the darkness; the same of course could not be said for the gladiators who most likely could barely see past their hands. From below the center of the arena, a trap door opened up with a magically imbued cage emerging from the hole. Oh how hungry the beast inside the cage must be, especially after he had deprived it of any sustenance for three days.

The last cage opened up with a loud and deep clang which caused the gladiators to turn their eyes to it. A brief grin was creased upon the side of Numerius' lips as he eagerly awaited for what came next. Through his imbued sight, the Magister saw the creature within the cage who tried to avoid the ensorcelled bars which were more than capable of searing flesh and bone.

Suddenly within the next heartbeat, a lone figure rushed out from the cage and screams of pain and agony filled the arena as one gladiator had his throat torn out and the man next to him had his chest caved in by a single strike. The gladiators of course were shocked and confused by what was going on but it only served to make them stationary targets for the beast within the cage.

Never had Numerius or his relatives seen such a creature that was both so beautiful and terrible at the same time. What especially intrigued them was the strange power in its blood which from samples they had been able to collect, was more potent than anything they had ever seen. The arcane feats they could accomplish with but a single vial of it was nothing short of spectaular and if they could replicate it, then all of the Imperium would be on their knees, begging them to share it.

For now though, they had a more entertaining use for the creature which had proven quite resilient during their experiments. The gladiators died like the chaff they were, they flailed uselessly about, trying to strike an opponent that was simply too fast for them. Screams and pleas for mercy were met with laughter and amusement from the Magisters as the blood flowed like wine during a holiday and creature continued to rend and tear at their flesh.

The last of the gladiators to die was the man whom Numerius had been fancying and he found himself to be somewhat aroused as the creature knocked the man down and held him face down into the sand. With a loud bestial roar, the creature which looked almost like a man, sank its sharp teeth into the gladiator's neck. The struggling gladiator's screams were soon silenced as his flailing stop and like before upon some the creature's previous "meals", the victim then began to moan in pleasure and contentment.

The Magister wondered if it was some form of toxin which the creature was capable of secreting through its bite but he was not yet sure for he had not tried it himself. Soon the last gladiator's movements completely ceased and the creature knocked its head back with a roar of savage victory before going to the body of the nearest dead gladiator. The creature then pressed its head to the spreading pool of the man's warm blood and it began to lap it like a kitten drinking milk from a bowl.

Perhaps he could tame this wondrous creature thought Numerius with some amusement before a commotion broke out to his right.

'You spilled wine all over me you cheap slut!' roared Crassus, the younger brother of Numerius whose fine green clothes which had also been imported from Orlais was now stained with red wine.

'I am sorry master!' pleaded an elven slave girl who like the rest of the ones which belonged to their House was shaved bald and had their family insignia branded upon the back of the skull.

Going into one of his usual violent rages again, Crassus who was a rather physically strong fellow, grabbed the slave girl by the right shoulder and he threw the elf into the arena (which was not that far down) with the creature still feeding. A gasp was heard from some of the other slaves but none dared to lift a finger against the Magisters, as it should be. The creature which had been lapping the blood from another dead gladiator was quick to turn its attention towards the fallen slave and it began to lope towards her on all fours like a common animal.

The slave screamed in terror as she tried to run and flee before the creature grabbed her and pushed the elf up against the wall with her back to it. Intrigued by the spectacle, Numerius realized that he had not tried to see if the creature even possessed some "baser" urges and with academic interest, he was eager to find out. The fallen slave began to weep as the creature began to sniff her before, much to the surprise of the Magister, went off of her and back to the corpses.

'How chivalrous' commented Aurelia, his sister with some disappointment.

'Perhaps elves are not its fare' replied Numerius who so far had found the creature to only be interested in consuming human blood.

The audience allowed the creature to feed while ignoring the slave who still cowered from it for their eyes were now completely upon the thing. Its body which was almost indistinguishable from that of a normal human man's was only markedly different due to its razor sharp long nails and sharp-toothed maw which could extend to inhuman lengths. What was especially quite intriguing was the level of intelligence and civility it had when its hunger had been satisfied.

The creature then stood up from its latest meal, its long nails retracted back to its fingertips and its teeth began to shrink enough to look like that of a normal human. Taking an upright like any proper person, its gleaming blue eyes regarded them quite coldly. There were times when Numerius had… "thoughts" about the creature in its more human form for he found it to be quite handsome in a roguish way.

'Are you not entertained!?' shouted the creature who had called itself Alejandro Cassimere as its arms were outstretched. From what Numerius had been able to find out, this creature was fluent in multiple languages such as Orlesian, Ander, Antivan and even in Tevene. Even from his position, the Magister could see the anger and hate in its eyes, along with the promises of violence, thankfully though, they had special wards against the undead in place which proved quite effective for dealing with whatever this Alejandro Cassimere was.

The creature's question was met with amused laughter and cheering from Numerius and his relatives whose answer was undoubtedly, yes. Little did Numerius or most of his relatives know that its gaze was focused upon young Licinnia whose will was weaker than the others and had made the mistake of looking directly into the the creature's eyes.

* * *

A wicked smile was etched upon the lips of Alejandro Cassimere, one of the Vampire Counts of Estalia who began to work a mystic charm upon one girl among his audience. She would be the key to freedom and through her, he would have his vengeance for being tortured and imprisoned. Bowing formally to the crowd, the Vampire's mind began to whirl with thoughts of drinking every single one of them dry before raising their corpses to serve him.


	5. Scion of Mists

'Papa, papa! What is happening?' asked little Lisbet with confusion and fear as her hands gently tugged on to the trousers of her father, Jehan.

'Hush now little flower' replied her father in a calming tone as he tried to hide his own fear while his wife, Elise was weeping.

A woman's scream had been heard in the flat across that of his family's, the one inhabited by their neighbor, Clarice who was a close friend of his wife. Fearing that it had been a gang of thieves or other hooligans up to some mischief, he quickly grabbed the wood cutting hatchet which he kept close to the hearth and after working up the nerve to investigate, he opened the old wooden door which led into the hallway of the apartment building. He felt terror when he saw that it was not some mere thugs who had caused the disturbance and instead, he saw men dressed in an extravagant mix of clothing and light plate armor, each one carried a magnificent sword which only the wealthy could afford and their faces were concealed underneath exquisite masks of polished steel.

One of the masked men who was without a doubt, a Chevalier, had simply given him a single glance that was enough to send a deep chill down his spine. He saw that there were two other similarly dressed, masked Chevaliers inside Clarice's flat and immediately did Jehan close the door while trying to ignore the pleas of his neighbor. That was then when his daughter came up to him and his wife began to cry.

'What's happening to Auntie?' asked Lisbet and the simple carpenter just did not know how to explain to one so young, the lot of common folk such as them.

'Just go to sleep little flower' sighed Jehan who prayed to the Maker that such a thing would never happen to either his wife and daughter.

Lisbet reluctantly obeyed and began to comfort her mother who continued to cry by the bed which Jehan and Elise shared. With a heavy heart, Jehan slowly walked back to his family while trying to block out Clarice's voice before a new commotion broke out in their neighbor's flat. There was first a loud smack of metal on metal before a pair of great thuds were both felt and heard by Jehan who along with his family, turned their heads towards the doorway.

'Unhand her you villainous wastrel!' came a loud, muffled, masculine voice who spoke not in the Common Tongue but the old language and his accent was odd 'you dare call yourselves knights!'

'And who in the Maker's name are you!?' shouted another voice which had a cultured, noble accent to it.

'One who does not have less honor pig droppings!' replied the first voice.

'You dare question our worth!?' accused the second voice with the cultured tone and Jehan heard the sounds of swords being drawn from sheaths 'you would defend the honor of this common slattern?'

'I doubt a band of cravens curs such as yourselves would even know of the concept of chivalry!' replied the first voice.

'Let us take this outside then if you think you are so honorable' challenged the cultured voice.

'Agreed for I would not wish to be partial to senseless vandalism' said the first voice and soon Jehan heard the sounds of footsteps upon the floorboards of the hall.

* * *

Sitting on the back of a horse with a cold evening mist gathering around them, Quentin Durand watched as their most "noble" leader exited an apartment building and unto the muddy streets with three armed and armored Chevaliers behind him. Instinctively placing a hand near the hilt of his sword, the mercenary honestly would have felt bad for the Chevaliers if it was not so obvious as to what they were doing in the apartment. It was not the first time they had stopped to help some random person in need and honestly if it were up to Quentin, they would already be half-way to Nevarra.

'Are they fighting?' came the quiet voice of Zephyrine as she kept her cowl over her head and one hand tightly held onto her staff.

'Aye, but should we help him?' asked Quentin towards the third member of their little group who wore thick leathers and a dark cloak which completely concealed his features and leaving only a faceless shadow.

'He will not appreciate it' replied their faceless companion who also kept one hand close to one of his swords while a bow and a quiver of arrows rested upon his back. Already, peasant folk were gathering to see the ensuing duel and people from the apartment opened their windows to watch.

A brief and quite exchange passed between their party's leader and the Chevalier who simultaneously spread out with two getting ready to flank him. Once more it only served the heighten the differences between the leader of their party and the Chevaliers, for the man wore a shining suite of plate armor of a design he had never seen with a towering helmet which was topped with the golden head of a boar, a magnificent red cloak and tabard which prominently featured the white insignia of the lily while in his hands was a sword which glowed with bright, azure glow and a kite shield with the gilded lily as well.

After a few tense seconds, the three Chevaliers who were armed with swords and shields charged their leader who himself was also equipped in the same manner. One masked Chevalier launched a thrust which was retracted in mid strike while another swung his sword, aiming at the neck of their party's leader and the third thrust his sword and aiming for the hip. Faster than even he could follow, Quentin saw a swift swipe from their leader's glowing magic sword which parried one Chevalier blade while the shield caught the other one before delivering a sharp kick that connected to the belly of the one who made the feint.

Their party's leader moved very quickly, despite his heavy armor and he launched an aggressive assault which forced the three Chevaliers into adopting defensive tactics. Sparks flew as sword struck against sword or the surface of a shield. The teamwork of the three Chevaliers was impressive for sure as each man was highly trained in the arts of combat and war.

For a common mercenary such as himself, Quentin had no doubt that his own chances of surviving a fight against even one Chevalier would have been fairly poor. For their leader though, he proved to be faster, stronger and more skilled than all three of the elite warriors in ways which seemed… unnatural. Their leader parried the thrust of a sword with his shield and countered with a feint that sent one Chevalier into a defensive stance but was immediately redirected to another with a pommel strike to the masked face, causing the nobleman to reel back.

With one Chevalier now dazed, the other two pressed their attack with aggressive assaults with the intent on keeping their party's leader occupied. Eventually during the fight, one of the Chevaliers's launched a sword thrust that was expertly parried before receiving a shield strike that hit the nobleman's masked face. The third Chevalier swung his own sword at their party's leader and the blade almost connected against but at the last moment, it struck the kite shield and before the Chevalier knew it, a glowing sword plunged into the side of his neck.

Shocked gasps were from the crowd as one Chevalier was slain and the one who received the pommel strike to the face was immediately gutted before he could recover. The second Chevalier, the one who had been struck by the shield had moment to realize what had happened to his companions before the glowing sword cleaved into his masked face. Silence fell upon the crowd as the audience watched three members of the Chevalier were slain and their killer, the armored man who lead their party had not even taken a single hit.

'I suggest we should leave as soon as possible!' shouted Quentin towards their leader who looked back to him and gave a slight nod. The mercenary felt unnerved when he saw the candle-light glow of unnatural fire in the eyes of their leader who seemed more than just a mere man. From the front door of the apartment building, a crying, haggard looking woman in hastily dressed clothes stepped out and when she saw the dead Chevaliers, she quickly moved towards their party's leader.

The woman fell to her knees with her the skirt of her dress getting all muddy as she took their leader's hand and began kissing his gauntleted fingers while profusely thanking him. The platitudes did not last long for he heard the distant sound of alarm bells from the Watch.

'Come on let's go!' shouted Zephyrine towards their leader who handed something to the grateful woman before returning to his magnificent steed which was barded in steel plate armor of its own.

As soon as their leader mounted up, Quentin heard the amused voice of the faceless man speak 'and I thought I was the one who desired the lavishing attentions of fair maidens.'

'I suppose it is one of the… "perks" that come for those who completed the Quest' said their leader as he settled himself on his saddle.

'Perhaps when we get back, I should petition the Lady to let me have a sip from the Grail' replied the faceless man with humor and their leader had quiet laugh before the party of four kicked their steeds into a gallop.

The cold mists seemed to converge around them as they rode on and it hindered the efforts of the Watchmen who sought them. In all of his years as a mercenary, Quentin had never worked with a pair so odd as these two men. As long as they did most of the fighting he thought, he had little to complain from the brothers Abelard and Rainier du Artois.


	6. Beasts of Gwaren

Cold mist escaped the lips of Darrian as he looked out towards forest around him and his eyes which had already adjusted to its natural night vision was now piercing the darkness. Wearing a full set of cured hide studded leather armor which offered some protection along with his pitted and scarred, small shield which was crafted from the wood of an Ash tree and ringed with iron. His right hand nervously rested upon the pommel of his grey iron longsword which he honestly needed to replace for it had too many notches with spots of rust appearing along its surface.

What was not the first and most likely also not the last time in his life, he wondered about whether he should have taken that job or refused it back in Amaranthine. Once he had worked as hired muscle for the local Thieves Guild but after a job that had been royally botched, he had been forced to get out of the city as quickly as he could because if he had stayed, his former employers at the Guild would have made sure that he took a trip to the bottom of the Waking Sea with a heavy stone tied to his feet. Where once he had a rat infested house in the slums of the Alienage, he now often slept in the cold wilds with creatures like hungry bears and wolves to keep him company.

Now here he was, broke, stranded near some isolated town called Gwaren (which he had accidentally arrived at by stowing away aboard a ship while escaping from bounty hunters) and freezing his ass off in the middle of the wilds. He had tried looking for work but had little luck which was hardly surprising for if an elf like him could have found something legitimate he could hold on to, he would have taken it a long time ago. The only thing which prevented his current situation from being too bleak was the recent company he had found himself with which also presented him with some interesting new opportunities.

There had been a recent spate of killings lately in the region where some unlucky locals, wood cutters, herders and people living in the farmstead have been found brutally slaughtered by some wild animals. The local Teryn, one Loghain Mac Tir had left some time ago to join a muster that was happening in the south of Ferelden and the militia forces he had left behind were doing a fantastically poor job in figuring out just what was killing folk and trying to stop it. Darrian himself would have not cared much about the situation but the bounty of ten sovereigns that had been put up for anyone who could find out whatever was killing folk was too tempting to pass up.

This eventually brought him back to where he was now with a plan which he was beginning to have some serious second thoughts about. He had heard whispers that the killings were being done by none other than lycanthropes or werewolves which had once been a problem around the region. Darrian had heard stories of these horrid creatures which supposedly had once been ordinary wolves but were possessed by demons from the Fade, he had mused that it was the explanation for the name of werewolves for they once were wolves.

The nightly chorus of the insects, birds and other creatures of the forest created a loud noise which often kept him up at night and it forced the simple mercenary to strain his hearing in an attempt to pick up the sound of anything that might be approaching him. Continuing to stand still with one hand remaining on his sword, he honestly did not know how he even agreed to this plan which involved him being the bait. After a few more minutes he finally picked up something that smelled slightly like a wet dog but at the same time, something that infinitely worse.

It was then that he heard the sound of rustling in the brush behind him and it came with animalistic sounds of snarling and barking. Quickly drawing his sword and raising his shield in a defensive stance, Darrian's heart began to pulse faster as his eyes widened and what he saw did could not prepare him for the reality of it. Bursting out with an explosion of leaves and twigs was a horrible creature that indeed had many wolf-like features with its furry grey hide, its long snout, pointed ears and sharp fangs.

The similarities ended there though for the creature was much more massive than an ordinary wolf and it bounded on all forms that were elongated and shaped in a way that was more akin to that of a person. Instead of paws, it had long feet and hands which ended in sharp claws and its eyes gleamed with a savage light that spoke of a feral intellect that was beyond the mere instincts of a common animal. The werewolf's maw was now wide open, its lips were curled back to reveal the rows of sharp teeth and long ropes of drool dripped from its mouth as eagerly as a hound to food.

'Oh sod' whispered Darrian as he clenched his bowels and felt just about ready to soil himself as the monstrous creature leapt towards him.

Bringing up his shield which honestly seemed like a pitiful gesture against this nightmarish, he briefly heard another deep roar above him and it filled the elf with a mixture of primal fear and at the same time relief. Before the werewolf could pounce on him, a second, considerably large beast which had been hidden in the branches above, leapt off of its perch and it landed on the monster that was attacking him. Instinctively taking a step back, he felt and heard the loud impact as a mass of white fur and muscle landed upon the werewolf with claws gouging deeply into the monster's flesh and teeth biting sharp teeth biting into the back of the neck.

A second loud roar was heard but this time, it was not one of a bestial voice that shouted ' _Kurnath Charoi_!' echoed across the forest and it was followed by the death wail of another werewolf.

'Right then' breathed Darrian to himself as he brought his sword with the tip pointed down towards the face of the werewolf that attacked him while the monster still struggled under the weight of its attacker. Thrusting his sword forward, the grey iron blade bit deep into the snout of the werewolf and partly severing its nose from the rest of its head. The werewolf struggled for only a brief time before it began to slow and eventually it movements stilled.

The other beast that had attacked the werewolf looked up to Darrian with bestial icy blue eyes which also gave signs a keen intellect within its mind. The second beast's body resembled that of an oversized white furred cat with and its bulk was barded like the steed of a knight in elegant yet strong plates of highly decorated silvery metal with. Shining rubies were studded into the beast's armor and there was an under layer of pristine white and red cloth which served a similar purpose as a doublet would for a man in plate armor.

Crimson gore dripped from its maw as its breath misted in the night air as his did and it released a low growl before bounding past him to follow its master. Following after the beast, Darrian quickened his and he heard another loud death wail from a werewolf. He eventually came into a clearing of the forest where under a ray of moonlight which broke through the canopy of leaves, he found his companion holding her own against three more werewolves, two already lay bleeding from mortal wounds upon the grassy ground.

Raising a bloody twin bladed axe high which brightly glowed with a golden light, the High Elf woman who was named Ehlenien Sunmane, severed the left arm of one werewolf that got too close and with a return swipe, the elegantly brutal weapon quickly cleaved the lycanthrope's right leg off from the knee. Torrents of gore gushed out from the wounds of the injured werewolf and before it even hit the ground, the other beast which was named Kharana had tackled another of the lycanthropes. The werewolf that had been knocked down had attempted to snap and claw at the white lion whose armored plates gave it a surprisingly formidable degree of protection while the remaining two werewolves barked and snarled.

In contrast to Darrian who wore a cheap set of armor, his companion's gear was of a far higher and far more elegant quality. Ehlenien was protected by a gilded breastplate enchanted metal which had a highly detailed silver lion displayed upon her chest; the fearsome beast looked as if it was roaring with twin rubies inlaid into its eyes. Gold and silver bracers and boots which were also inlaid with ruby-like gems protected the limbs of the maiden along with sleeves and a skirt of gold scale mail which had a similar color.

Ehlenien's helmet was a tall, conical shaped pieced of armor which was at the front, designed to resemble the roaring face of a lion as well with the maiden's fair face placed within its mouth. A great plume of red hair-like material jutted out from the top of the helmet and it cascaded downwards to touch the cloak which she wore. The final and perhaps the most notable aspect of the High Elf woman's gear was the great white fur pelt which covered her back and it Darrian immediately realized that it had belonged to a beast much like Kharana.

There had been some rather unusual and outright extraordinary circumstances which he met this strange, alien woman who was unlike any girl he had ever met, circumstances that had involved a rather messy fight with some local smugglers and bounty hunters who had chased him all the way from Amaranthine. Currently, it was within his best interest to keep himself in her good graces which so far proved easy to accomplish and was something he found himself genuinely wishing to maintain. The beast of course was another matter entirely and more than once he felt its predatory gaze upon him like it was some girl's overprotective father.

The remaining two werewolves snapped and barked at them before turning away and running off into the brush while yelping in terror. Relieved at the sight of the two monsters fleeing, Darrian gave a relieved sigh as his heart continued to pound within his chest.

'Are you unharmed Darrian?' came the smooth yet strong voice of Ehlenien whose golden eyes settled upon him and the City-born elf felt himself transfixed with a mounting feeling of desire growing inside of him.

'I am fine' replied Darrian as he immediately regained his wits, straitened up and cleared his throat. 'I managed to get one' he announced while holding up his sword which was still coated with werewolf blood 'Kharana helped, but I did most of the work.'

In response, they both heard a loud snap of bone as the massive cat broke the spine of the werewolf which she savaged and the lioness made a low roar towards him in protest. Soft, melodious laughter came from the High Elf maiden as her animal companion then began to bite into the flesh of the werewolf and eat. A low guttural sound then came from one of the werewolves which Ehlenien had previously felled and much to the shock of Darrian, it formed a coherent speech.

'It… it spoke!' blurted the elven sell-sword with surprise.

'I have slain many monsters capable of such things' commented Ehlenien rather casually and both she and it drew a surprised look from Darrian. From what little he had learned of this, other world where Ehlenien, came from, it seemed like a terrible place where horrible monsters were just waiting to eat people around every corner and wars were fought non-stop with a depressing degree of regularity. The two of them then stepped closer to hear what the monster had to say and they both heard.

'Pack… feast on you…' growled the voice of a brown furred werewolf that was missing an arm and a leg.

'Tell me where the rest of your kind are, beast, and I will ease your passing' replied Ehlenien in a low and threatening voice as she brought her axe close to its neck and Darrian heard the deep growl from Kharana.

'Shadowmoon find you all' spoke the werewolf whose lips curled back with an evil toothy grin and with its last breath, it said 'Shadowmoon hunt you and Pack… feast….'

'Not if we find this Shadowmoon first' whispered Ehlenien as brought her axe up and with a mighty chop, she decapitated the prone werewolf with a single strike and she picked up its head before standing up to her full height.

'So what do we do now?' asked Darrian as he looked up to Ehlenien.

'The two who had escaped would have left a trail which we can follow' replied the High Elf woman as a feral grin came over her face 'we will find this Shadowmoon and we will skin its hide.'

'But we killed these ones, surely we can return for the bounty with them!?' exclaimed Darrian who was not looking forward to the idea of fighting more of these things.

'Ah but would not the reward be greater if you returned with the heads of the entire pack?' added Ehlenien with a slight smile towards him and Darrian mentally cursed for she got him where it mattered.

If they did come back to Gwaren with proof that they indeed had killed a whole nest of the things, then surely the rewards for it would be greater than what was posted? Darrian considered himself to be a cunning and persuasive fellow and he had no doubt that he could convince the officials who posted the bounty to make it well worth their while.

'You know what you are doing, right?' asked Darrian with a bit of nervous uncertainty.

'I do my friend' replied Ehlenien with a reassuring smile 'I was trained rather well and my mentor was a great many things, a warrior, a hunter and a brilliant tactician all at once.'

'I will just have to take your word for it' nodded the sellsword who still felt a bit uneasy about this but the promise of much gold was simply too much to pass up.

The three then set off further into the dark forest with the distant howls of wolves to accompany their passing...


	7. Swordwing

Never in the life of Lehran Kalos had he been in such a miserable place for despite the natural night vision of his kin, he could barely see past the gloom and all he could hear was the weeping of those around him along with the foul smell of soiled clothing, bodily waste mixed with the faint smell of the sea and the creaking of wood as the ship rocked upon the waves. From what little he had seen before being shoved inside at the point of a sword, he saw several gaunt, skeletal faces of other elves, poor bastards who had been chained up and waiting to be shipped to, Maker knows where, most likely the Tevinter Imperium if he had a sovereign to bet on. After stumbling through the dark and making his way past the others with some so lost in their despair that they even ignored him when he bumped into them, he finally found a corner or at least a wall to rest his back on.

You just had to go borrow all that money he thought rather sourly towards himself for he had made one of the most classic mistakes that would later get someone killed or sold into slavery. If he still had his lock picks or at least a knife, he would have felt better about his chances of trying to make some form of escape but the _shem_ who had brought him here had been thorough in their search. He swore that if he ever managed to get himself out of here, he would leave the Free Marches and head elsewhere like Ferelden or Orlais or maybe even go find the Dalish.

'You are new here' came a smooth, masculine voice in the darkness to his right which did not have the same accent as someone from the Alienage and had a more foreign sounding tone which he could not truly identify.

'And what makes you say that?' asked Lehran with some curiosity for in his situation, he had nothing else to do but wait and hope that he gets some opportunity at freedom.

'You do not smell like the others' coolly replied the voice 'and you speak like one who still believes that freedom can still be attained.'

'And I take it that you have some sort of plan to get out of here?' asked Lehran who had some ideas on how he could stage a breakout with assistance from another.

'Someone is coming for me' answered the voice in a calm and patient manner 'although I must admit that had things gone a bit better, I would not even be in this situation.'

'Sounds like there is a story behind that' said Lehran who had been in more than a few tight spots in the past which could have entirely been avoided had he or someone he was working with had taken better care to not be so clumsy.

'You can say that and until then, I have time to speak' spoke the voice in the darkness.

* * *

The streets by the docks of Hercinia were now silent as night had fallen across the lands and it was the time of night when most folk who engaged in illicit or even darker activities were abroad. The local Watchmen of course did not bother to patrol the docks around this time for most of them were paid off or "encouraged" by the local Guilds to do their routes elsewhere. Armed mercenaries and local gang members roamed the streets. Some were tasked with keeping watch over the transfer of contraband which were transported from ships which would then be distributed to the dealers on the streets, others were on their way back with ill-gotten gain to be sold to fences and some had even more sinister intents.

Among those who could consider themselves most definitely the latter, were the pirate crew of the Saint Beth. A trio of them, men garbed in leather armors and wielding daggers which were sheathed on the sides of their belts, staggered out of an inn while singing a boisterous sea shanty. After more than a few drinks, the pirates felt perhaps more than a bit frisky and fortunately for them, they knew just the place where they would not have to pay an extra coin for some company.

One of the pirates, a Rivaini named Martello stepped to the side and announced to his mates 'you lads go on ahead, gotta drain the snake.'

The other men hardly acknowledged their shipmate for they were too drunk to care and the man staggered off to an alley to relieve himself. Undoing the belt of his pants, he felt a sense of relief which began to fill Martello as he passed out all the ale he had drunk from the tavern and after a quick moment, he was already rejoining his mates who were not far ahead of him. He kept an eye out for trouble, watching to see if any of the local street rats would try to rob him and he began to have that gut feeling that someone was following him.

Looking back dark streets behind him, he saw not one living soul and he thought that perhaps he must have drunk too much or perhaps the ale was not a good batch. Quickening his pace so he could rejoin his shipmates, the pirates made their way to the Saint Beth which carried their cargo. Martello had joked with the idea of sneaking away a couple of their current stock and setting up a brothel somewhere and they all had a good laugh from it, from pirates to pimps one man said and they further joked about the idea of turning the ship into one giant sea-born den of vice and sin.

When they eventually arrived near where the Saint Beth was moored the pirates felt somewhat re-energized by the salty smell of the sea but for Martello, he felt another sensation which was highly unpleasant. A hand shot out from behind him and covered his mouth before the edge of cold blade tore a bloody gash across his throat and his vision began to blacken. Blood gushed out from the fatal wound as he gurgled his last and before the blackness took him, he could hear the sounds of clashing steel and the pained screams of his fellow shipmates.

* * *

'Well that must have been a real stroke of poor fortune' shrugged Lehran towards his companion who still remained in the dark.

'Indeed' his companion who called himself Mahanon Lavellan then spoke 'would you care to tell your own story? How you came to be trapped here as I have?'

'Fair is fair' said Lehran 'it all started when-'

'To arms! to arms!' shouted a muffled voice from above and the sounds of footsteps could be heard along with the faint sound of clashing steel.

'And there is my rescuer' said Mahanon in the dark and Lehran could hardly believe that his companion had been speaking true this whole time.

The eyes of those within the cargo hold turned upwards with hope rising in their hearts as the sound of battle continued on.

'Those _shem_ sure sound like that they are being given a real beating' commented Lehran.

'I have learned well enough not to question the skill of that one' Mahanon then said.

After several long minutes, the sound of the fighting finally ceased and those within the cargo hold began to wonder what was going on.

'What's going on?' a woman asked in a terrified voice 'why did the fighting stop?'

Again, there was silence and it seemed that time had stopped as everyone within the cargo hold stopped to listen. Soon they heard the sounds of footsteps from outside and the door which led into the crammed up space, opened to reveal a _shem_ holding a key ring and a lantern with another figure standing behind him while holding a glowing blade to the pirate's neck. The blade slid across the human's throat, spraying blood upon the floorboard and those closest to the door who then cowered before the stranger who now silently stood at the door way.

'And I shall be taking my leave, perhaps you can join us, my clan has taken in a few of you city dwellers over the years' Mahanon then said as he stood up and began moving towards the slender figure at the doorway.

It did not seem like a bad idea thought Lehran who recently just did consider trying to look for the Dalish and it seemed that he had just found them. Getting up to his feet and feeling the weight of the chained manacles around his wrist, he followed his black haired companion who had been dressed in rags as much as he was and the elves around them took the cue as well with more than a few whispering prayers of thanks to the Maker. The others of course barely had the strength to get up and most of them who were simply too weak, stayed in their place and pleaded to be liberated.

Wishing to at least thank their savior, Lehran soon became surprised as he got a closer look to find that their liberator was what looked to be an elf woman of an unusually tall stature with pale skin and a rich mane of red hair which flowed downwards and was decorated with golden leaves, bright feathers and gemstones. Human blood matted the woman's armor which was composed of silvery scales while a green cloak of some expensive fabric was draped around her shoulders and pinned in place with a gilded pin depicting a bird of prey carrying a sword. In her hands, she carried two leaf bladed swords which despite being coated in gore, generated a soft, obviously magical, cyan glow with intricate ivy-like symbols across their surface.

Words were exchanged between the two as the tall woman gave a slight, warm smile to Mahanon. The woman then looked to Lehran with eyes of jade green and a haughty look before her gaze was focused upon the others who were in chains. There was then a clicking sound from Mahanon as he used one of the keys undo his manacles before tossing the ring towards Lehran.

'I would like you to meet Lady Kayren Swordwing' Mahanon then said as he rubbed his wrists and immediately did Lehran decide to stick with the Dalish plan.


	8. Deathseeker

A nervous mood filled the Chantry Temple as several humans offered desperate prayers to their Maker. An elderly priestess gave a sermon to those who sought refuge while other members of the clergy attended to the wounded and what was left of the town's militia were keeping their eyes to the heavy wooden double doors which led into the place of worship, their hands tightly gripped around what weapons they carried, many of which were nothing more than farming implements. Setting down an emptied metal stein next to him, Duran Hirmote felt a nice warm sensation spreading across his belly as the ale left a pleasant aftertaste in his mouth.

Some of the humans scowled at his drinking, especially inside their holy place but he could hardly care less for he did not put much stock in their religion and besides, he had a job to do tonight. As broad as he was tall, Duran Hirmote, former member of Orzammar's Warrior Caste and now a sellsword for the Ragebringer Company, lounged about upon a wooden pew while around him were a group of fellow dwarven fighters, all part of the same band of mercenaries. Protected by full sets of Dwarven Massive Armor and wielding fine weapons forged by the Smiths of Orzammar, they readied themselves for the coming night's bloody work again.

Word had spread that human settlements along the borders of Nevarra and the Free Marches have been getting raided by wandering bands of undead. Naturally, the Templars were the first to respond, likely something about one of those renegade mages they like to go after but none of those who went to investigate have had any success in finding out what caused the dead to rise and it became easy for sellswords such as himself to find a town that was willing to hire their services. Of course, by the time the mercenaries arrived, things seemed to have been getting far worse for the town they now stayed in, claimed that the undead horde numbered in the several of dozens, if not hundreds.

Having had previous experience in fighting walking corpses, thanks to the foul necromancers of the Darkspawn which infested the Deep Roads, Duran and his company remained undeterred, especially when there were those who could afford their services. Currently numbering a total seven, the dwarven warriors busily sharpened blades upon whetstones or did some regular maintenance to their equipment. Standing out among them was another dwarven warrior who barely wore any armor of his own yet was no less fearsome in appearance.

Unlike the rest of the mercenary berserkers, the strange, foreign dwarf who called himself, Jurgen Olafson was simply dressed in a pair of ragged striped pantaloons of white and red along with metal shod boots of a greenish leather. A belt made from misshapen human skulls rested around his waist with two serving as sheathes for a pair of finely wrought war axes with lengths of bronze chains attached to the hilts which connected to a pair of bracers that were also forged from bronze. Perhaps the most distinguishing aspect of his features was the impressively strong build of Jurgen Olafson whose flesh was covered in many swirling blue, runic tattoos and his hair which was dyed a fiery orange and styled into a single, high crest over an otherwise, shaved head while his great beard which reached past his gut, was decorated with several pieces of jewelry and it bore a rather prominent moustache above the lip.

They had met the warrior in the Deep Roads two weeks earlier while doing some scouting for a regular client in the Dwarven Merchants Guild. Dozens of dead Darkspawn had been slain by the warrior who had clearly completely the deed single-handedly and it became easy to convince the stranger to leave with them. Oddly, this Olafson fellow neither spoke any words of Dwarven or Common, rather he spoke in foreign tongues, among them was the language of the Anderfels which the fiery crested warrior insisted was called Reikspiel.

From the stained glass windows, he could see the sun setting and he knew that it was time to get to work. The other dwarves of his company quickly got the cue as well and they got up from their resting positions and they put on their helmets and drew their weapons. Harnessing the rage taught to all berserkers, the dwarves made their way out of the temple, eager to earn their keep.

* * *

Loud cracks of bone escaped the knuckles of Jurgen Olafson, Daemonslayer of Kraka Ornsmotek as he stepped out of the human temple. The sickeningly familiar tinge of sorcery mixed with the stench of rotted corpses was heavy in the air and the runic script etched upon the flesh of the dwarf began to writhe with their own protective enchantments. The clatter of boots and heavy armour assailed the ears of the _dawi_ who paid little heed to the sound as his garnet-hued eyes were focused towards the emptied manling town which had been cleared from the previous battle.

The muddied streets of the human settlement were devoid of all life as the sun continued to set and alien stars soon appeared in the sky. Keeping his mind off of the fact that was nowhere in the Old World or the New, the Slayer had contented himself with doing that which he had sworn to find, a glorious doom. As darkness fell upon this land, this Thedas, Jurgen waited with anticipation at the prospect of a fight.

What was left of the human militia joined the dwarfs for the night's battle, most were scared farmers armed with hunting bows, crossbows or tools which only the desperate would use as a weapon. Some whispered prayers to their deity, their so called Maker while others simply watched and shook with dread as the unnatural mists gathered. The small band of dwarfs on the other hand displayed not a single hint of fear for the ones which Jurgen traveled with were true warriors at heart.

Low growls emanated from the other dwarfs, their gauntleted fists thumping against breastplates or helmets, working up the fierce rage which they embraced during battle, an all too familiar sight among the Grim Brotherhood. A restless mood came over them all as night began to further fill the sky and after perhaps an hour, the dark mists began to form. Whatever prayers the human militia made now became more desperate and frantic as the grey mist which had a greenish tinge to it became thicker and Jurgen saw the things which moved within it.

' _Kallak_!' roared one of the armoured dwarfs who drew a rune-etched great axe from his back and hefted it in an aggressive stance.

' _Kallak na Amgarrak_!' shouted another dwarf who wielded a pair of swords which glowed with arcane light.

War cries were taken up by the dwarf, their defiant voices howling to the dark things in the mist, challenging them to throw everything it could at them. Jurgen felt his blood rising, his heart began to beat faster and he felt every muscle in his being tense for the coming violence. Drawing his axes which began to spark with electricity, he knocked his head back, filling his lungs with the cold and fetid night air before bellowing out his own, thunderous cry.

' _Khazukan Khazakit-Ha_! _Khazukan Andrung Dawi_!

* * *

Drawing both axe and sword which were imbued with elmental lyrium runes, Duran embraced his anger which blossomed into an inferno of unbridled violence. Soon, the mists blanketed the entire village, obscuring the visions of those still living souls caught within and the temperatures severely dropped to the point that their breaths joined the fog.

'Hold your positions dwarves!' roared Duran with an authoritative tone and his companions remained in place with weapons at the ready and they could hear the steps of their approaching foes. Tall and skeletally thin shapes armed with varying arrays swords, axes and bludgeoning emerged from the mists in a full sprint, each one a hideous creature of rotted flesh which clung against bone. 'Have at them dwarves!' roared Duran and the mercenary Berserkers unleashed themselves upon the restless dead.

A human skeleton with unnatural, wearing the tattered remnants of a suit of leather armor swung a sword towards the dwarf and the blade clanged off against his right shoulder pad and Duran countered with a diagonal slash from his axe which shattered its ribcage and sent dusty bones flying. The undead fiend collapsed into a lifeless pile and he gave it little heed before decapitating another thing which lunged at him with a war axe. Just as with the previous night and the two others before that, the dwarven berserkers made short work of the undead, their Massive Armor offered an unparalleled degree of protection while their weapons were more than a match for their foes.

Fighting in a tight formation to allow each dwarf both the space needed to swing their weapons, they also remained close enough to prevent others from getting flanked. It was a testament to the discipline and skill and of the former Warrior Caste dwarves that despite the berserk fury which they embraced in battle, they were still able to maintain their grouping. Like water before the stone, the undead broke against the furious bulwark of the berserkers while the human militia focused on taking shots at the enemy with their ranged weapons.

It was going to be a long night, thought Duran as chopped off the right leg of an undead which had a lot of dried skin still clinging to its frame and he let loose a loud war cry of such loudness that skeletons were knocked to the ground muddy ground and left as easy prey for the raging berserkers.

* * *

Raising up his right with one of his lightning wreathed Gromril rune axes held high, Jurgen Olafson hurled ancient weapon towards a nearby zombie and the blade bit deeply into rotted flesh. As the weapon flew from his hand, he immediately grabbed the length of chain which connected from the bottom of his axe to his right bracer and he pulled it towards him.

'Come here!' roared the Daemonslayer as he gave powerful tug which knocked the zombie off of its feet and he dragged it closer. As soon as the corpse came within reach of his axe, Jurgen used his left hand axe to make a single clean decapitation strike which sent the zombie's head off and he quickly did the same with its legs. Lifting up the rotted corpse with his axe still embedded into its chest, Jurgen gave a loud roaring laugh and he charged forward.

Skeletons and zombies were sent flying as the Slayer's makeshift shield battered aside all those in front of him while his left hand axe hacked and slashed all those who tried to flank him. It would have been more preferable if he were fighting the grobi, thaggoraki, the followers of Chaos or those Darkspawn things he had recently encountered within the so called, Deep Roads but he could not afford to be picky. Feeling the impact as his "shield" slammed into another body, he swung it to the side with enough force to dislodge the rotted corpse into another and he became a deadly dervish of spinning blades.

Limbs and especially heads were sent flying wherever the Daemonslayer went for in his experience of fighting the restless dead, especially zombies, the surest way to put one down was to either destroy their brains or perform a decapitation. Soon the Slayer found himself deep within the unnatural cloud of greenish mist and he could still hear the defiant cries of the other dwarfs. A trail of broken bones and smashed rotted corpses, a road made from the skulls of the fallen were left in his wake and the Daemonslayer turned about, eager to widen it before he heard the sound of a heavy bootstep from behind him.

Glancing back, he saw a trio of tall, bronze armored undead warriors, each wearing a winged helmet and armed with swords and shields, silently awaiting him, yet was drew his eye was the one that led them. Clad in ancient armor of bronze and also wearing a winged helmet, the fourth undead warrior raised a heavy mace wreathed in sorcerous energy towards the Slayer. Darkly familiar green balefires filled the eyes of the undead champion and soon those same lights filled the eyes of the three other warriors.

Well that explains all the undead thought Jurgen as a grim look came over his face and he mentally cursed for this missed opportunity of finally finding a good doom. If he died now then no doubt the undead would have uses for his own corpse and if he came back as one of them then he would be denied his places among the Ancestors Halls. Besides, he was not yet ready to die for Jurgen Olafson still had an important task which needed to be done, he needed to find the one he had been traveling with before he came to this strange land and until then, his doom would have to wait.

Raising his axe in salute to the undead champion, it raised its own weapon towards him, mirroring the gesture. The skulls Wight King's and its retinue would make fine new additions to his belt...


	9. Iron Without

Cold rain poured from the dark sky above Llomeryn, a contrast to the heat within the workshop of _El Trueno_ in the past month, each bearing the deadly implements of their trade. Some boasted of their deeds at sea, whether it be raiding or pillaging while others spoke of deeds done in the darkness and shadows.

Among this gathering of rogues, pirates, cutthroats, thieves and other assorted ne'er-do-wells, Tacito waited for his turn. Garbed in a simple set of Hardened Studded Leather and an oiled cloak to ward off the falling droplets of water, he was a dark skinned man in his early twenties with a face which would not stand out among the crowd in Rivain, just as he would prefer it. Keeping to himself, he quietly watched those around him for despite the air of civility and the banter among the crowd, there was also a sense of hostility, especially from those of rival groups.

A strict no fighting policy was enforced by _El Trueno_ whose skills in craftsmanship had commanded a great deal of respect from the many crews of the Felicisima Armada and his reputation of battle prowess had only served to further keep them in line. The door to the workshop remained open with six people ahead of him and inside, he could see that there were even more folk. Not much he could do now but wait, thought Tacito who stood under the pouring rain, his right hand tightly holding on to a strap which connected to leather wrapped object which rested upon his back.

* * *

Business was good today, thought Natia as she eyed the crowd of humans which filled the workshop and it made her think that she should have left Orzammar and the Carta a long time ago. Dressed in some common clothing of dark brown with fine stitching, she put up a well practiced, friendly smile to all who came into the ship. One of the customers, a large bearded human man who wore a sleeveless vest and rippling muscles which were decorated with serpentine tattoos was hefting an absolutely massive crossbow of yew to the counter.

'How much?' came the stony voice of the customer as he looked down towards Natia who could tell that the man was trying to intimidate her into lowering the price for it.

'Four sovereigns' replied the dwarf who showed not a bit of fear while putting up a confident demeanor for she was well acquainted with the rough types of folk. The big human glared down at her, trying to keep up his intimidating look but after a moment he realized that it would go nowhere and began to reach for his coin pouch. Producing two gold coins which he then set on the counter, Natia gave the human a sweet smile, as she would after any transaction and said 'thank you and come back again'.

As the big human left, another cutomer, a rather fidgety looking human woman stepped up while carrying a small sack full of traps, all crafted by " _El Trueno_ " (as the locals now nicknamed him).

'It's uh… for the rats' said the woman in a nervous tone.

'Well let's just count and see then' smiled Natia and the customer began to place the items onto the counter. Several cheap small traps such as Claw and Caltrop ones were placed onto the wooden surface, definitely for more than just rats thought the dwarf who kept such observations for herself. After quickly counting the traps, she then gave the price of ten silver coins.

Just as on many other days, the customers came in and out, buying crossbows, bolts, traps, grenades and the other things which _El Trueno_ made, all the sorts of things which the various crews of pirates and mercenaries prized in their lines of work. It was quite hard to believe that life on surface turned out so well for her, especially considering that she had fled Orzammar with nothing but her Duster Leathers, a pair of daggers and an extremely enraged bastard by the name of Beraht cursing her name for botching a job involving some heirlooms from a Noble House. It was not like she had much to go back to anyway thought the Casteless Duster who was glad to have food and a place to sleep in, rather than a rubbish-filled gutter.

There were then more purchases such as explosive tipped crossbow bolts and a couple of packages containing an easily buildable miniature catapult. At this rate thought Natia, they could become some of the top suppliers of arms for the Felicisima Armada and they would both be filthy rich in the process. Eventually, there came one fellow who stood out among the crowd, a black haired elf in dark leathers with a tattooed face and he brought a small crossbow which could easily be carried in one hand.

'I wish to purchase this one' said the elf who had a smooth, cultured voice which also carried a distinctly thick Antivan accent. This one had a look of a professional killer thought Natia, the sort which she was also familiar with when she had still been in the Carta.

'Oh well about that…' said Natia a bit uncomfortably and she heard heavy steps from behind her. With a quick look back, she saw the cluttered workshop of her partner which had several mechanical bits and pieces scattered here and there but at the center, was one particularly massive and impressive "special project" of his which was concealed by a massive blanket of raggedy cloth.

'A dozen sovereigns!' came the gruff, thickly accented voice of " _El Trueno_ " or Krodien Eitrigson as Natia better knew him and the other dwarf pointed his left thumb towards a wooden plaque on the side of the workshop which had the words onto it "EXTRA CHARGE FOR ELVES".

An annoyed twitch came upon the fine brow of the Antivan elf who gave a cold, murderous look to Krodien who in turn, did not seem the least bit impressed. Dressed in a thick leather apron worn over sweat-stained clothing of linens, the dwarf who claimed to hail from a far away city called Zhufbar, sported an impressively long and thick brown beard which was decorated with small golden clamps which displayed the faces of ancestors unknown to Natia. She noticed how he already had one of those small metal tube weapons which he called a pistol, holstered on the side of his belt.

One of the other customers at the back then began shouting some rather unflattering slurs towards the elf who then looked back for a moment before returning his gaze towards the dwarf. Muttering a couple of rather colorful Antivan expletives, the elf quickly then handed them twelve gold coins before storming out with the small crossbow in hand.

'You're not worried that you will get shot?' asked Natia towards her business partner.

'Oh he will be back' replied Krodien in a confident tone. 'He didn't even buy the special bolts for it.'

'Right then' shrugged Natia as she turned towards another customer, a human man who carried a series of small black metal spheres with long rope cords attached to them…

* * *

When his turn finally came, Tacito stepped up to the wooden counter where a rather pretty dwarven woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and hazel eyes worked at. A small black, symbol was branded upon the left cheek of the dwarf who patiently expected him and he set down the wet leather pack which he carried. Untying the small cords of rope which sealed the leather casing, he unfurled it to reveal the object which it contained and it drew a surprised look from the dwarf.

Composed of a long metal tube attached to a wooden stock and a bronze spyglass placed on top of it, the strange object had emblazoned upon one side of the butt of it was a golden insignia depicting a lion holding a pair of weighing scales. On the other side of the stock, there was another symbol depicting a golden cross.

'I want to know what this is and how much it is worth' announced Tacito to the dwarf woman who quickly turned around and she called to _El Trueno_ who seated upon a stool and busy working by a table with several small objects scattered across its surface.

'Hey, you got to see this' said the dwarf woman and _El Trueno_ looked to them with a strange set of headwear composed of glass lenses held by a leather strap.

'I am little busy lass' replied _El Trueno_ who then turned his attention towards Tacito himself and he glanced down to see the metal tube device which lay on the counter. The jaw of _El Trueno_ dropped at the sight of what the man had brought and he quickly hopped off his stool before running towards them. The male dwarf soon picked up the metal tube with a look of shock upon his face and he began to inspect it, much like how a jeweler would examine a fine gem.

'How did you get this?' asked _El Trueno_ towards Tacito while looking up to him and within the man, he began to feel a sense of satisfaction…

* * *

After inviting the manling to come behind the counter, Krodien Eitrigson was eager to hear the human's explanation. The handgun which had been brought was not just any ordinary weapon (which the people of this strange realm called Rivain had as it seemed, not even invented black powder) but a genuine Hochland Long Rifle! The Dwarf Engineer from Zhufbar had certainly not been carrying one with him when he had been fighting the damned _Thaggoraki_ in one of the mountain passes near Karak Varn.

They now sat by a hearth at the back of the workshop near where a pair of beds were placed, the Long Rifle held in Krodien's hands while the human struggled with trying to find a comfortable position on one of the two dwarf-sized chairs. A small pool of rain water had gathered around the human and it soaked the exotic carpet which had likely been stolen by one of the many pirates which lived in this city which reminded the Engineer of the Tilean city-state of Sartosa. The dwarf had offered the manling a drink but the human had declined, saying that he would be "on the job" this night.

'So, how did you find it?' eagerly asked Krodien.

'An old man gave it to me' replied the human in a thick accent which oddly sounded close to that spoken by the fen-dwelling manlings of Albion.

'An old man?' repeated the dwarf who knew that it was not much to go by.

'Aye an old man' patiently nodded the human 'sickly looking fellow wearing all dark clothing and a feathered hat was lost out in the wilds and wanted to trade it for some medicine, supplies and directions to the nearest town'.

'And where is this old man now?' asked the Engineer with suspicion in his voice.

'He is just around here actually' answered the human with a shrug. 'I am a Ranger you see and I guided him over here to Llomeryn'.

'He is in town?' skeptically asked the dwarf for he had a feeling that this other human could truly be a manling from the Empire.

'At a hospice nearby, run by the Sisters of the Chantry' said the human.

'I need you to take me to him' the dwarf added rather assertively. 'I will even pay you for it!'

'I can take you right now' the human said and he stood up while gesturing towards the doorway which led back out to the workshop.

Nodding to the human, the dwarf got up as well and said that he would meet him outside. As the manling left, the dwarf then went towards a wooden armoire which was sealed by a bronze lock of his own making. Operating the complex mechanism which sealed the container, he soon opened to reveal the fantastic array of wargear within.

Several grenades, bombs and other weapons created by the Guild of Engineers were placed inside but at the center of it was a weapon he had crafted himself. Based on a fairly new design of firearm known as a Grudge-Raker, he had personally crafted this particular gun from Karak Azul iron and placed installed upon a sturdy _Wutroth_ stock. Affectionately calling it _Urkrikkaz_ or Orc-Pulper, it featured two barrels which could fire a storm of hot lead, much like a blunderbuss and it also incorporated an experimental loading mechanism which involved a revolving chamber that held the shot and powder.

Unwilling to walk about unarmed in a town full of pirates and cutthroats, the dwarf thought about taking with him a heavy axe-like device which was heavily mechanized. Inspired by the handheld Steam Drills used by the Miners, this machine axe utilized a miniaturized steam engine to power a series of _gromril_ teeth attached to a conveyor. He hoped that once perfected, it could become both a tool for woodcutters, cooks who specialized in troll-based dishes and also for killing those damnable tree spirits which the _thagging elgi_ of cursed Loren so favored.

Deciding on using something simpler, especially considering the rain, he just took an engraved hammer which bore ancestor icons upon its head, a coat of steel chainmail, a hand-crossbow and a stone-grey cloak which hung from a hook. As he left the personal quarters and back into the workshop, he saw Natia still busy dealing with the customers, haggling prices to make sure that they made a good profit. Being one of only the few other dwarfs he had met since arriving in this land (not to mention a _rinn_ as well), and he was happy enough to have her company, despite having some rather strange ways which were unlike those of a proper _dawi_.

'You heading out?' asked Natia towards the Engineer as she finished a transaction with another human customer involving a set of easily concealable, spring-loaded hilts which at the press of a button on the side, produced a small knife blade that was perfect for stabbing something.

'Aye' nodded Krodien towards the _rinn_. 'Got something I need to see'.

'Well I am coming too then!' announced the _rinn_ and the Engineer knew that look when her mind was made up and there was no way that he could change it. Natia then stooped down to get something from beneath the counter and she pulled out a small wooden plaque which supposedly had written on it "On break, come back later" (not that the Engineer actually understood the strange alphabet used by the people of this realm, but he had been assured of what it said, especially with the other sign for elves).

The few remaining customers began voicing complaints but Natia quickly began shooing them away while giving assurances that they will open up again soon. The human who had brought the Long Rifle quietly nodded, signifying that he would wait for the other dwarf who then went towards the back of the workshop to grab her own things. After a short period of time, Natia returned all garbed in a set of leather armour, her own cloak, a pair of sheathed short swords (which she insisted were called daggers) tied to her belt and those "special" gauntlets which Krodien had crafted.

'Let's see what the fuss is about' announced Natia and the three of them left the workshop.

* * *

If there was one thing which Natia certainly disliked about life on the surface, it was all this weather stuff. It was too bright, too dark, too windy, too hot or like now, too wet and cold. Somewhat missing the constant gloom of being underground, the dryness and warmth from the few times she had been in the Commons of Orzammar, the Duster immediately decided that there was no point in moping about and she refocused on the task at hand.

The human they now followed was a short distance ahead of them with Krodien behind him, her eyes darted from side to side as they passed the wet, muddy-slicked alleys where any number of brigands might be hiding. She had a gut feeling that set her ill at ease, as if they were walking into a deal just waiting to go bad. Picking up her pace and moving towards the foreign dwarf she had recently become acquainted with and she quietly spoke, hoping that the sound of the rain would help hide her voice.

'Something about this just doesn't shape right' whispered Natia and the other dwarf looked back over his shoulder towards her.

'I know' quietly replied Krodien. 'But I have to see for myself.'

With a quiet nod, Natia continued to follow them through the rain, her hands close to the hilts of her daggers. They seemed to be going the right way, thought the Casteless Duster as she observed their surroundings for she had been able to explore their little part of the city a bit and she was aware of where the nearest Chantry was. The streets were mostly crowded with humans and more than a few elves, many of certainly had the swagger of a pirate or a sellsword.

Taking a right by one of the alleys which was still on the way to the place of worship for the surface-dwellers, she felt a familiar itch upon her palms that which made her stomach feel like there was ice in it. Glancing back, she briefly saw someone quickly sidestepping towards another alley and her fingers tightened around the grips of her blades.

'We are being followed' quietly warned Natia and Krodien made a soft grunting sound while his meaty right hand reached for his hammer.

'Looks like there is no need to keep this charade up longer' said the human who had been leading them and he slowly turned around to face them, the glint of steel clearly seen as two blades were drawn by the man. Hearing the squelch of mud from behind her, Natia turned around and she saw another figure, a slim elven woman wielding a pair of swords and she heard another step as a third individual appeared with weapons already drawn.

'I should have expected this' gruffly spoke Krodien who took a quick survey of those around them before looking back at the human with a cold look in his eyes. 'So a robbery is it?' he asked.

'Nothing so unprofessional' replied the human. 'There are certain… "interested parties" in your works, _El Trueno_ , parties who believe that your talent is wasted on pirates and scum such as those within this city'.

'And I bet you've been hired to bring me in, is that it?' questioned Krodien.

'More of an offer to be precise' answered the man and another pair of cloaked figures appeared.

'Aye? And what would that be?' spoke Krodien.

'I have a ship, waiting to leave within the next day' said the human whose voice remained calm and even. 'You will have time to pack your things and gather your belongings.'

'Oh? And what is to stop us from just buggering off?' replied the other dwarf.

'I have many people posted around your little shop, _El Trueno_ ' coldly answered the human. 'With just one word, we can have it surrounded and by the next dawn, all will think that it was just a robbery and soon, everyone will forget that you were even here.'

'Is that so?' sneered Krodien who then looked about once more before glancing back to Natia and giving her a slight shake of his head. Nodding in understanding, the Duster reluctantly sheathed her blades. 'Looks like we don't have much choice' grunted Krodien.

'Good, I am pleased that you saw reason' smiled the human and his friends immediately sheathed their weapons. 'Now come, my friends and I will be glad to escort the two of you back...'

* * *

 _A short while later_

'What the sod was that!?' incredulously asked Natia as the two of them dried up within their workshop.

'Found a reason to do some experimenting' answered Krodien non-chalantly as he packed some of his wargear into a bronze strongbox which he had recently made.

'Experiment!? What-' responded Natia who immediately stopped in mid sentence as a look of realization came upon her face. 'You mean you got it to work!?' she asked with a mixture of fear and barely concealed excitement.

'Aye, just this morning actually' said the Engineer before finally packing the last piece and safely locking it within. 'Shame that we have to leave here, but I would rather retire to a nice spot with some proper stone above my head.'

Lifting up the strongbox with a grunt, he carried the heavy container to his "special project". Setting it down near the covered contraption, he then went towards it and placed both of his hands over the cloth blanket. With a single pull, he heard the flapping of the sheet as it came off and he heard the gasp of wonderment from Natia.

'I present to you' announced Krodien with pride swelling in his heart 'the Gyrobomber!'

'By the Stone' whispered Natia in wonderment. 'Does it really work?'

'Sure as _grombolgi_ wants to stuff himself on Pie Week' replied the Engineer as he went back towards the container and he transferred it to the compartment which would normally hold the bombs but instead, it had been modified with to be able to carry cargo through the addition of a sturdy net of rope. Sliding the container into the cargo section, he then began to go around the workshop and started stuffing things into bags and other receptacles.

'So where are we going?' asked Natia who still looked at the machine with awe for not long ago, it had been absolutely wrecked when the Engineer had made a crash landing on the outskirts of Llomeryn.

'Away from here, that's for sure' replied Krodien. 'Would you mind giving me a hand lass? I don't think those buggers outside are going to wait forever'.

* * *

Watching the workshop from a short distance away, Tacito wondered just what those two dwarves were doing. It had already been two hours since they had been escorted back and the sentries he had posted to watched the place were certain that the place was still occupied. At the least the rain had stopped pouring, so he was thankful for that at least.

'Should we go in and check on them?' asked one of his compatriots, an elven woman named Talia of whom he had closely worked with for some time now.

'I believe we should-' said Tacito but was cut off as a loud, thunderous sound resounded from the front of the workshop and sending out a hail of wooden splinters. Thankfully, no one was near enough to be seriously hurt but a cloud of saw dust emerged and he began to hear a strange, whooping sound coming from within.

'What the-' said Tacito in bewilderment as the cloud of sawdust was swept away in a sudden gust of strong wind. His eyes then widened as he saw a large, metallic contraption move forward, a series of spinning blades attached to poles rotated around and around, faster than any windmill. At the center of the machine, he saw the bearded face of the dwarf _El Truero_ who was wearing a leather cap with glass lenses covering the eyes and behind him was his female companion. 'Don't let them escape!' shouted Tacito as he drew his blades and his comrades began running towards the machine.

As his legs carried him forward, he saw the two dwarves stick their arms out of the machine and he realized that they threw something at them. Briefly he saw red colored sticks with burning cords on top sailing towards them and he immediately shouted a warning but his voice was drown out by loud, thunderous explosions. Everything became chaos for Tacito as he felt a brief sense of vertigo before his back impacted against the road and his head cracked against the ground.

He heard a ringing in his ears and he felt hands grabbing onto him. He tried to resist but was immediately stopped as another set of hands stilled his own.

'We have to leave, now!' came the concerned voice of Talia.

'Get to the ship groaned Tacito as the whooping sound began to grow fainter and the world continued to spin around him. He barely heard the voices of his fellows as they dragged him away and was able to hear snatches of it.

'-ailed!' said one man with a hint of despair in his voice.

'-must return' spoke another, this time in a different language which they all knew too well. 'The _Ben-Hassrath_ need to-'

'We still have the other…' said a third voice as consciousness finally began to ebb from Tacito and before long, he was welcomed into the embrace of darkness.


	10. Iron Within

' _Amgarrak! Amgarrak_!' roared Lord Thurin Arekan as he felt a heavy impact upon his Dragonthorn Targe. Burning, Darkspawn blood stained his ornate rune-inscribed, Dragonbone dwarven massive armor, his fine elvish sword, Urist easily decapitated a Genlock as more if its kin took its place. Twin Paragon runes of Silverite were embedded upon the elegant blade's jewelled hilt, making the blade especially deadly towards Darkspawn and a third Rune of Momentum increased his agility.

The Deep Roads tunnel had become an abattoir as the battalion of Warrior Caste soldiers sworn to House Arekan formed a wall of shields. Dwarven archers had taken up position in the rear; they fired volleys of arrows over the shield wall, aiming for the Darkspawn at the back. It was a battle of attrition between the Dwarves of Orzammar and their ancient enemies but if there was one thing the _Dwarva_ had learned over generations of bitter warfare was that their enemies could always afford such losses.

Their situation would have been a grim one in most circumstances but this time, the dwarves had with them something to easily turn the tides of battle.

' _Amgarrak_!' he repeated again as Urist split another skull in twain. Thurin had adopted a somewhat tiring stance which allowed him to project an air of insolence; his presence drew the attentions of the Darkspawn, driving them to focus their efforts solely upon him instead of his warriors while at the same time, he served as a beacon of courage for the dwarves. An arrow shattered upon his breastplate over where his right collarbone should have been, the impact staggered him, fouling a sword thrust aimed at the gut of a Genlock.

A waraxe then slammed painfully upon his right pauldron, the imbued Dragonbone plates held but the bone-crunching force of it sent waves of pain into his arm. Through sheer strength of will, he held on to Urist and before he could repay his attacker, another waraxe, one of dwarven craftsmanship, was buried into the creature's neck. Immediately switching targets, he blocked a mace blow from a Hurlock and he countered with a blade thrust up its ugly maw.

Twin mighty roars then echoed from across the hall and dwarves instinctively knew what sort of foe could make such noise. 'Ware the Ogres!' shouted one of the Warriors as five horned giants clad in thick plates barged through the Darkspawn horde like charging Bronto. The mere sight of the armored beasts would have worried most dwarven warriors who were not of the Legion of the Dead but Lord Thurin's expedition was ready for them.

'Grenadiers! Attend!' ordered Lord Thurin and the order was repeated by a dwarf behind him and soon several specially trained, lightly armored dwarves came up behind the wall of shields, each carrying explosive phials concocted by the Poison-Makers which served his House like many others among the courts of Orzammar. Some also carried a particularly deadly new weapon they had found called Cinderblast Bombs which instead of using alchemical liquids placed inside glass containers, were composed of metal containers filled with a black powder, metal fragments and placed upon rods which would be hurled like a stick which also had some sort of ring attached to cord.

They had recently acquired these devices along with several other powerful yet unusual weapon from another equally odd dwarf who clearly came from some foreign realm. Clad in his own strange style of massive armor with the color of blued steel and bronze, the warrior named Dorandor Ironheart had quickly been proving to be one of the best fighters in service to House Arekan and was greatly responsible for their recent successes in battle. Giving the Ogres time to get close, Thurin gave the order to throw and several grenades were sent sailing over their heads and explosions ripped among the Darkspawn lines.

Blasts of fire, frost, lightning and metal fragments slaughtered dozens of the closely packed Darkspawn but the Ogres of which were far tougher and better protected, were left grievously injured.

'Archers! Focus on the Ogres!' ordered Thurin and shortly afterwards, a volley of arrows and quarrels found their marks. There were also several loud cracks as well for aside from the Cinderblast Bombs, they had also found weapons somewhat similar to a crossbow but instead of a mechanical bow, it used a hollow metal tube placed upon a stock. Four of the beasts went down from the barrage while only survived with heavy injury and it pressed on in a maddened fury.

Stepping forward from the wall of shields, Thurin cut down another Genlock before severing the right arm of a Shriek that tried to stab him. Taking a deep breath, the dwarf lord released a loud war cry with such strength in his voice that Darkspawn were knocked down from their feet. He then moved into a sprint with shield raised, he smashed aside several Darkspawn, his momentum was such that when he came within range of the armored ogre, he leapt towards the charging horned monster.

The magic elf blade which had long served Thurin, glowed brightly as it also bore other enchantments which made it more potent and in one swift motion, the blade sliced through Ogre's armor. Urist bit deeply into the monster's flesh and the weight of the dwarf lord allowed him to knock his opponent on its back. When the back of the Ogre slammed upon the stone floor, Thurin quickly retracted his sword and as one last act of spite, he stabbed the Ogre in the right eye and instantly ending its life.

Waves of intense heat suddenly washed over the armored body of the dwarf lord as tongues of fire engulfed the Darkspawn around him; a Paragon Rune of Immunity protected him from the inferno as the beasts screamed in short-lived agony, their bodies were immediately reduced into piles of blackened bones. From among the Thurin's warriors, there came dwarves wielding more unusual weapon which the foreigner, Dorandor had called Drakeguns. More Darkspawn died beneath the flames as the warriors of House Arekan advanced, their boots crushed charred bones into ash and their weapons spilled the blood of those few that managed to get past the fires.

When Thurin had first set out from the gates of Orzammar to lead this expedition, he had known that the chances of success were slim at best but, he never would have that he they would actually have the odds in their favor, that the possibility of actually reaching the lost thaig alive and even reclaiming it from the Darkspawn was within their grasp. He had sacrificed so much time and money to get this expedition going and such was the stakes that the very survival of his House depended on success. He swore to the ancestors that he was not going to fail, not now, not when he knew deep within his heart that he was so very close to Arekan Thaig!

'Onwards brave dwarves! Onwards!' roared Lord Thurin as he pointed his sword towards the Darkspawn and he launched himself back into the fray. Such was the fury and the might of his host that soon, the Darkspawn horde which had been so eager to spill dwarf blood, had then turned tail and ran. As the monsters were routed, the dwarves gave pursuit, the warriors of Orzammar were filled with a righteous fury as they avenged the losses their people had endured for centuries.

* * *

A loud wet crack came from the skull of an orc-faced Darkspawn as the rune hammer of Dorandor Ironheart struck the tainted flesh. Blood and brain matter spattered the already filthy armour of the Ironbreaker he imagined that it bore the face of a damned _thagorraki_. He swore that when he gets back to Karaz Ankor, he was personally going to pen a grudge against the ratkin for this inconvenience.

Had the damned vermin not used, whatever cursed sorcery that sent him to this place, he would still be in Zhufbar and near a proper tavern with some real dwarf ale. Now here he was fighting gods knows whatever the hell these Darkspawn things were and drinking the worst beer he had ever tasted in his life. His only consolation was that he was in the company of other dwarfs which honestly was not even that comforting for he found many of their customs to be very strange and most spoke in a crude, mannish tongue which was oddly similar to that spoken by the barbarians of Albion.

The lordling leading this throng seemed like an honourable fellow at the least and any quest to reclaim lost dwarf settlements was always a respectable undertaking. It also gave him some comfort that the equipment from the Guild of Engineers warehouse was being put to good use, rather than in the claws of Skaven who would only cause mischief with such things. He could not imagine that the _Endrinkuli_ would be too happy that their machines were suddenly in the hands of those not initiated in their ways but, well as needs must he supposed.

He owed it to these other dwarfs to see that their mission was a success for had it not been for their timely arrival, he would likely have been overwhelmed by the Darkspawn. When Dorandor had arrived in this other place, the first thing that greeted him was darkness and an entire horde of the damned monsters bearing on him like _gors_ on a rampage. Once he finished aiding them though and that his debt of honour was repaid, he would head out and find whichever way led back to _Karaz Ankor_.

Lifting up his hammer, he went back to making sure that the vile monsters truly were dead by giving each one a sharp kick to the ribs and if it so much as breathed, he would crack its head open. It was grim, bloody work but a necessary one after a battle for like the hated greenskins, these Darkspawn things seemed to also possess powerful regenerative properties. The other dwarfs of the Throng were already busy preparing pyres for the dead monsters and after he butchered a few more monsters, he removed a hook from his belt and he stabbed a dead darkspawn in the roof of its mouth before dragging it with him.

'Need a hand with that?' asked a voice from behind him and the Ironbreaker immediately faltered in his step as his cheeks became flushed with red. Looking over his shoulder, he He beheld the face of a comely _rinn_ battle maiden dressed in a suit of heavy mail armour from some silvery metal that looked liked elven _Ithilmar_ which sported a single large pauldron and upon her back was a heavy battleaxe of the same material that rested upon the warrior woman's back.

'I can manage' replied Dorandor while suddenly trying to put up a more stoic demeanour.

'As you wish' nodded the battle maiden as she rejoined the other dwarfs of the Throng.

Another most unusual custom of these other dwarfs he thought was that aside from having no qualms about shaving and beardlessness, they actually brought their women to battle! Such a thing would only happen in the most dire of circumstances among the _Dawi_ and even then, that would be a tough to consider last resort. And yet he could clearly see that among the throng there were many a _rinn_ who marched into battle along with the male dwarfs.

He must truly be in some faraway realm for there to be dwarfs like this. What next he thought, a trustworthy elf? Oh that would be one worthy of one an Empire penny dreadful.

Dragging the body with him and towards a waiting corpse pile, a faint peal was then heard in the distance and the throng immediately became alert.

'To arms!' shouted another dwarf and weapons that had just been cleaned of blood were swiftly drawn. Abandoning the corpse, the Ironbreaker joined the now forming phalanx of heavy infantry. Taking up position at the front of the regiment, he looked to the fully armoured dwarf next to him.

'Darkspawn?' asked Dorandor as he set himself into a defensive stance.

'Aye' nodded the other warrior whose face was concealed behind a full helmet and eyes set in a grim expression. 'War horn, looks like the bastards want to have another go at us.'

'Ready weapons!' ordered the voice of Lord Thurin from nearby and several dwarfs came forward, armed with grenades, Drakeguns and Muskets.

Dorandor was somewhat pleased that these other dwarfs, despite being completely ignorant about _Thrunds_ and other black powder weapons, had been quick to properly use what he had taught them. Like a professional regiment of Thunderers, their archers of whom had originally been trained to wield both bow and crossbow, had formed a gun line with the barrels pointed ahead. Stocks were places upon shoulders as those at the front ranks knelt and those at the back had handguns in the open spaces between the heads of the second ranks.

From the tunnel ahead, a horde of Darkspawn surged forward like a living tide and the dwarfs made ready.

'Archers!' commanded the Lord and arrows were knocked from behind the dwarfs at the front and on came the monstrous horde. 'Loose!' followed up the Lord and death was rained upon the horde. Bodies fell by the dozens, they were thoughtlessly trampled upon by the kin behind them and after a few more yards, handguns cracked, filling the air with acrid smoke and brief tongues of fire. The hail of bullets cut down the Darkspawn like wheat before a scythe and the ranged troops at the front passed their spent guns to those behind them before pulling out loaded crossbows.

'Fire at will!' came the command again and the Darkspawn suffered terribly. It was almost impossible to miss with so many bodies crammed into the tunnel and more than a few of the things ended up tripping over their own dead. Dorandor also noticed that the Quarrelers of the throng also aimed for the feet of the Darkspawn, their shoots painfully rooted the creatures in place and further slowing down the horde's progress.

By the time the Darkspawn came dangerously close to the dwarf lines, the phalanxes of shield bearers parted ways to allow the ranged troops who had taken position at the front to vacate and the gaps were quickly filled. Carefully placing his Rune Hammer upon a leather loop on the side of his belt, the Ironbreaker drew one of his two Drakepistols.

Levelling the heavy dragon-headed gun towards the horde, he waited for them to get in range and after a few seconds, he pressed the trigger. Searing alchemical fire leapt from the barrel of his gun, incinerating four Darkspawn before switching to his second Drakepistol. Once both weapons were spent, he holstered them and drew his bloodied hammer.

' _Khazukan_ _Khazakit_ - _ha_!' defiantly shouted the Ironbreaker as one of the orc-faced beasts came at him with a vile-looking mace. Before the thing could even swing its weapon at him, Dorandor's hammer struck its face with the force of a cannonball and splattering bits of it all over him.

Just as before, the horde crashed against the sturdy wall of shields which held and as the beasts battered against the enduring bulwark that was the dwarfs, groups of grenadiers moved into place. Once the press of bodies became thick in front of the shield wall, death soared over the heads of the phalanx and into the midst of the Darkspawn. The bloody ruin left by the dwarfs made this fight nothing more than a _runk_ , a one sided slaughter as the monsters did nor bring any spellcasters nor did they bring the horned giants which the other dwarfs insisted were Ogres.

The Darkspawn this time did not run and rather, Dorandor noticed something off about the way the creatures were fighting. In his more than two centuries worth of experience fighting the enemy's of dwarf-kind, he had learned to tell the difference when an enemy fights with genuine savage ferocity or with one born of desperation. Slamming his shield into the chest of a tall manling-sized Darkspawn, the creature was knocked back and then mercilessly cut down by another similar monster.

The massacre did not last long as the Darkspawn died in droves before the well disciplined dwarf throng and when the final one fell, a tense silence fell upon them. Hundreds of eyes were focused on the way ahead of them, the dwarfs cautiously waited to see if more Darkspawn approached. Dorandor narrowed his eyes the moment he caught movement in the darkness and amidst the smell of blood, spilled guts and burnt flesh, he picked up a scent which plunged him into the blackest of moods as it caused old racial memories to emerge unbidden with in his mind.

Several dozens of lumbering forms appeared across the horizon, each was a massive brute clad in thick plates and wielding heavy blades or bludgeons. Red eyes numbering in the hundreds looked upon the dwarf throng with bloodthirsty eagerness, their hunger merely whetted by the Darkspawn. At the front of this opposing army came one warrior who like Dorandor, wore a horned helmet, its skin was almost the colour if pitch black and it carried a massive hammer which gleamed with a green light.

The warlord then knocked its head back and it gave one loud, bestial roar which was soon mirrored by those it led. Their voices shook the earth itself as the dwarfs remained steadfast and like a stampede, it began.

Soon the Deep Roads became an abbatoir once more as the two forces met, two tides furious of iron-clad juggernauts crashed and amidst the din of battle, amidst the clashing of steel, the screams and desperate orders, a single great war cry drowned out all others...

The cry of WAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!


	11. Soul Killer

A fell stench was carried upon the cold wind, one that was noted by Ser Gerod Caron, Knight of the Grey Wardens as he warily eyed the misty forest around him. Clad head to toe in a full set of massive armor forged from silverite, its polished surface gleamed under the dying light of the sun as night would soon come. His eyes which remained hidden behind the visor of his helmet remained squinted as he scanned his surroundings.

There was something wrong here, he could feel it, a corruption as foul as that of the Darkspawn Taint yet there was something about it which was ultimately different but no less abhorrent.

' _The Fade is disturbed here_ ' whispered a voice within his mind, one that reached out from the beyond and before his eyes a ghostly figure of shining light appeared. Taking the form of a Templar, the Spirit that had long ago given its patronage to Gerod stood with gauntleted hands clasped around the pommel of a ghostly sword that was embedded into the ground. A mystical aura emanated from the Fade Spirit, one that bolstered the resolve and determination of the Grey Warden as its stern gaze was focused upon him

' _You feel it too, don't you mortal_?' continued the Spirit which embodied the virtue of Courage.

'Aye' was the Grey Warden's reply as he reached for his weapon, a Greatsword forged from Dragonbone known as the Warden's Reach. Mist and rime covered the surface of the massive blade, its chill was not felt by Geron as he drew it from its sheathe upon his back and soon he rested it upon his right pauldron.

Gerod had been on his way to join the muster at Jader where many fellow Grey Wardens and the noble Chevalier of Orlais were gathering for it was believed by their brothers in Ferelden that a new Blight was coming. During his journey, he had stayed at a village inn where he had heard rumors of dark things now lurking about in the nearby forests. The small folk were deeply worried for many of the Chevaliers who had resided in these lands had answered the call to arms and with them came many an able bodied peasant conscripted into military service.

While at first Gerod had dismissed these claims as nothing more than mere superstitions, it had in the end been the incessant pleading of some locals that he as a Grey Warden should look into the matter. Now it seemed that local peasantry might have been onto something for indeed he could feel the corruption that was spreading and whatever it was its foulness was enough to leave both he and the Spirit of Courage ill at ease. After getting a feel of the corruption that now permeated this forest, he followed it like dwarf to Lyrium.

His journey led him to follow the dirt road which he had been already been travelling upon, its pathways heading in the direction of the Dales. After about half an hour of more walking with eyes on the alert for any ambush, he soon picked up a foul scent upon the air, one of blood and burning wood. Following both the smell and the corruption, it did not take long for him to notice a bright orange glow in the distance and he knew that it was not the light of a setting of the sun but that of a raging inferno.

Quickening his pace, the Grey Warden'a massive armor clattered with each heavy step, he could feel the corruption growing stronger and soon he heard the sounds of voices screaming in terror and pain followed by bestial roars. Soon the Grey Warden found what he was looking for and the sight of it gave him a moment of pause. Nestled within a great clearing was a village that burned uncontrollably, he could see dark shapes running about shrieking while others cavorted around the flames while chanting vile words which he did not understand but it hurt his ears to hear and he thought that aside from the foul speech, he could hear the sound of braying.

' _This is it_ ' came the voice of Courage as the Spirit materialized next to him, its gaze now focused on the burning village. ' _Whatever is ravaging that town is the source of the corruption, you must purge it mortal_ '.

With but a mere thought, unnatural vigor began to fill the body of Gerod as his will reached, beyond the veil to draw forth arcane power. Shifting to an aggressive stance, the Grey Warden's body was cloaked in the very essence of the Fade and he strode forth towards the village. As he drew closer, he was able to get a better look at the attackers. At first he had believed he witnessed what looked to be Men wearing horned headdresses like those of the Avvar barbarians that dwelt in the Frostback Mountains but upon closer inspection he realized that he witnessed some abominably horrid monstrosities.

A bleating sound came from his right and he looked about to see a scrawny man-sized creature that looked almost human save for a face far to bestial and ugly, small stubby horns potruded from its skull with ears like that of a hairless goat and fur covered legs of the same animal. The creature stood at the doorway of a thatch roofed hut, the door itself had clearly been smashed down and fresh gore coated it maw and chest, a clear indication of the fate of the home's ihabitants. It shouted something in its barbarous tongue, a bloodied spear pointed towards the Grey Warden who immediately quickened his pace to a sprint with greatsword trailing behind him.

The monster yelped in fear as Grey Warden drew closer, it raised its spear in one hand, it right arm cocked back in readiness to throw and it hurled the projectile towards him. With the power of the Fade infusing his very being, Gerod easily evaded the spear and he swung his greatsword in a murderous cleaving arc. Spiritual energy flared along the edge of Warden's Reach and the massive blade easily parted flesh and bone, causing the monster's body to topple in half.

More braying was then heard as more of the things emerged from the homes and alleys, blood smeared the jaws and weapons of the creatures as they roared in rage towards the Grey Warden.

'Come on then! Come and die!' roared Gerod as the monstrous herd stampeded towards him in a stench-ridden blood hungry tide.

The first to reach him was an axe wielding beast like the first one he had killed, it eagerly leapt forward with weapon raised, its maw slavering as its eyes were filled with hunger and hate. It did not live to see its mistake as the Grey Warden whose agility had greatly been imbued by his connection to the Fade and who possessed a far greater reach swung his blade overhead and he chopped its skull in half with the body of the monster collapsing like a a sack. His armor was soon further bloodied as the monsters tried to rush him, they made no attempt at using tactics other than to overwhelm him with numbers and savagery, a tactic which the Grey Warden was familiar with.

With his Fade-enhanced reflexes, he easily dodged and parried the attacks of the monsters, the few strikes that did land were easily turned aside by his silverite armor as the blood that stained it began to acquire an even deeper coating of crimson. The Grey Warden reaped a deadly toll from among the things, limbs and heads were sent flying as bodies fell in twain while his bloody onslaught continued unabated as he pressed further into the village where he found more signs of utter ruin.

Here and there he found the bloody remains of the village's inhabitants. The butchered bodies of men, women and children lay strewn about like discarded meat at a butcher's shop, the monsters had clearly taken the time to gorge themselves on such a bounty of flesh. Having seen such vile atrocities committed in the past by Darkspawn hordes in the Anderfels, it was one thing to see it done upon the people of a foreign nation but such wanton carnage committed upon his countrymen had only enraged the Grey Warden.

Repaying the fiends in kind, Gerod Caron offered neither mercy nor pity as he lopped off the arm of one monster before finishing it off with a swing that cut it in half from groin to head. The feral savagery of the creatures was soon replaced with fear as Gerod continued to cut a bloody swathe through their ranks and immediately he heard a loud series of roars not far from him. Quickly glancing to his left, he saw a much larger group of creatures which possessed far more muscular physiques with the heads of goats upon their shoulders.

Surrounded as he was by foes, the Grey Warden did not have time to pay much heed to the newcomers as he parried a rusted sword and he delivered a swift jab into the face of the thing that had attacked him. His gauntleted fist connected with its ugly face, he felt the crunch of cartilage as the creature reeled with blood matting its ruined nose and eyes shut in pain, like the others of its kind, it's body soon fell to the ground as the edge of Warden's Reach cut open its belly and foul entrails spilled forth upon the bloodied ground.

Just keep coming grimly thought Gerod as he slaughtered more of the things and he suddenly felt a heavy weight upon his back. Immediately he knew that one of the creatures had leapt upon him, no doubt it would try to stab him through any gap in his armor or try to hold him down for it kin, not that he would have any of such. Using his strong connection to the Fade, he instantly harnessed a great deal of energy and after a moment, a burst of bright purple arcane energy exploded from his body.

The explosion from his Fade Burst seared the flesh of the monsters around him, many collapsed either outright dead or grievously wounded with the latter clawing at their now ruined forms while bleating in pain. The use of such an attack was taxing upon the Grey Warden's stamina but it was an eventuality he was prepared for. Taking a deep breath and focusing his mind upon himself, he accessed a deep reserve of vigor within to grant him a second wind.

Already the goat headed monstrosities would almost be upon him, their hooves crushed the skulls of their smaller kin as they trampled over the bodies in a mad rush to get to him and the Warden backtracked to the hut where he had killed that first creature so that at the least, he could fight with some solid stone at his back. Likening the physical differences of these creatures to that between Hurlocks and Genlocks, he had a feeling that these ones were definitely much higher in whatever barbaric hierarchy passed among the monsters. Expecting them to attack outright, Gerod saw them hold back instead and the goat headed creatures began to encircle him like a pack of wolves.

By his guess, the smaller ones probably felt more confident in their chances of bringing he, a lone warrior down but after his butchery of the things, the survivors were now more cautious. Shifting into a defensive stance while anticipating their inevitable attack, the Grey Warden just needed time to collect himself before he could unleash another deadly Fade Burst. The goat headed monsters growled and slavered as they eyed the Grey Warden, they snorted impatiently as some carved furrows into the ground with their hooves while other clashed weapons in eagerness and in their eyes, he saw nothing but cruel malice.

Eventually one of the beasts roared in fury, foul breath and spittle issued forth from its maw and all at once, they rushed the Grey Warden as one. Armed with swords, axes and clubs, the goat headed beasts had also underestimated Gerod as he was still infused with power provided by the Spirit of Courage. Deciding to preserve his Fade Burst, the Grey Warden knocked back his head and he let loose a loud warcry of such fierceness that those monsters close to him were physically affected with some staggering back and others being knocked down.

Regardless of how the monsters were affected by his warcry, Gerod Caron was immediately upon them with Warden's Reach in both hands. The goat headed beasts proved to be somewhat tougher compared to the runtier ones he had earlier slain but none could match both his speed and strength as he butchered them. With the power of the Fade still infusing his very being, it was almost impossible for monsters to strike at him and soon he saw that they began to realize the folly of their attack.

Beheading one of the goat things with a single swing of his greatsword and cutting a deep red furrow into the chest of another, the attack of the monsters relented as the bodies of many of their kin littered the ground. Taking advantage of their hesitance so that he could catch his breath, a loud roar far greater than that of the others echoed through the air. In the next moment, he felt the ground tremble, a deafening cacophony of bleating and braying intensified and a collective look of vengeful spite overcame the monsters that surrounded him.

Thinking that perhaps he had made a mistake, the building he had used to make sure that the creatures did not completely surround him suddenly exploded in a shower of thatch, wood, dust and masonry as a something just burst through its flimsy walls. Looking back, his eyes widened as he beheld a truly massive beast, one that rivaled the size of an Ogre. Before him stood a horned giant that possessed the head of a bull, its body was clad in crude plates of beaten metal, etched with arcane sigils that were painful to look upon, a mystical aura of dread and power surrounded it as the monster held a massive spike mace almost as big as a Qunari but the most distinguishing feature it had was that it possessed a single blood shot eye that strangely appeared cat-like in appearance that glared balefully down upon him.

In the next moment, the beast raised its massive mace high and brought it crashing down upon him. Reacting barely in time to the monster's strike, Gerod immediately leaped backwards while avoiding being crushed to death by the massive weapon. Instantly, the Grey Warden knew that this particular beast was even faster and stronger than an Ogre Alpha and the moment he landed on his feet, he began summoning every bit of Fade energy he could muster and the mystical veil that had protected him grew stronger but at the cost of requiring a far greater degree of concentration to maintain.

' _This beast may be far too powerful for you take on alone mortal_ ' whispered the Spirit of Courage with concern, its power was what gave Gerod his arcane abilities and he could feel it pouring as much as it could into him. ' _As much as I hate to say it, you must withdraw_ '

'What do you think I am planning to do?' growled the Grey Warden as he tried to maintain the protective veil and the mere act of communing with the Spirit was proving to be a dangerous distraction. Looking around him, he saw that his chances of escape were now proving slim as the monstrous horde now surrounded him continuing to bray and bleat as they began to chant in their foul tongue while stamping their hooves and clanging their weapons together.

The bull headed monster then bellowed a mighty roar as it beat a mighty fist upon its chest, its single eye blazed with azure light and after a moment he realized that it was actually trying to speak. While Gerod had no idea what the monster was trying to say he could surmise that it was issuing a challenge to him. Spittle flew from the rancid maw of the one eyed bull beast as its right hoof began to carve furrows into the earth.

Readying himself for the monster's charge, Gerod intended to let the beast come to him first yet as he readied himself, he felt something, a noticeable change within the Fade. Gerod then saw that this change was also noticed by the beast he faced, a look of puzzlement came over its monstrous features and the mists which surrounded them all began to swirl and glow with an emerald green light. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light followed by a single loud neigh and next came cries of pain and terror.

A great power was then felt by the Grey Warden, it was something far greater than he had ever known in his time dealing with the spirits of the Fade and it began to reach out to him. Before he knew it, more arcane power began to flow into the limbs of Gerod, the fatigue from channeling the Fade's power was banished, only to be replaced by an utter sense of confidence as Warden's Reach began to glow with a shining light. In an instant he decided to make full use of this newfound power and immediately he sprinted towards his foe.

The one eyed bull then refocused its attention upon him and this time the beast was the one that went on the defense. It gave a loud, rage filled roar as sparks of lightning crackled from its weapon and it swung the mace from the side with more than enough force to instantly kill a man yet the blow never struck. Leaping up into the air with the tip of Warden's Reach aimed towards the feline eye of the bull beast, Gerod completely went over the spiked mace and arms of the monster and in the next moment he impaled the thing.

Blood and optical fluid splattered over the Grey Warden as he stabbed the monster's eye. Such was the strength Gerod had placed into his strike that he felt it as the tip of Warden's Reach pierced its brain and burst from the back of the beast's skull. With the momentum of his leap still carrying him forward, the monster fell back like a felled log, its body heavily hit the ground with a tremor.

Taking a moment to survey his surrounding, Gerod saw that all was chaos now as the goat headed monsters were desperately trying to flee but it was not from him that was the cause of their terror. Moving swiftly among the herd was an emerald green glowing ghostly warrior, the form of which was like that of a knight which the Spirits would take within the Fade yet curiously, this Spirit in particular was mounted on top of a massive destrier that also seemed to be as ethereal and the armor of the entity was of a design he had never before seen.

Armed with a sword and shield, the blade of the Spirit reaped a deadly toll among the goat headed monsters, each strike sent heads and limbs flying as the hooves of its steed caved in horned skulls. The ghostly warrior moved with such speed among the herd that it was almost difficult for Gerod but wherever it went, bodies fell in twos and threes. A cry, a name shouted in utter terror was called by one of the monsters and soon others took it up as well.

' _Shaabhekh!_ ' was their fearful cry ' _Shaabhekh_ ' was the name of this being that emanated an aura of supreme dread towards the creatures, yet to the Grey Warden, he felt not any fear but only a sense of majesty from this being. The strange new power that had filled him coursed as well from the green glowing spirit yet he could sense that it was not the source of it, rather that there was another presence, another being that he could feel. Soon the monstrous horde was routed, the mounted spirit had in an almost impossibly short period of time had slaughtered a great many of the things and the Grey Warden easily withdrew his blade from the skull of his latest kill.

The foul blood of the monster sizzled from the energy that wreathed his sword, its essence which was mingled with the corruption he had felt seemed to find whatever power that now filled him to be anathema. He then heard the sound of hooves thudding upon the ground as the green glowing spirit now jogged towards him, the eyes of the ghostly knight were locked upon him and from its gaze he felt a strange sense of comfort flowing from it.

'Have _no fear, brave warrior_ ' whispered the ghostly voice of the Spirit as it still held onto both sword and shield, curiously it spoke in the native tongue of Orlais, a language hardly used by most folk.

'Who or what are you?' questioned Gerod as he felt that there was something very different about this Spirit for its presence was nothing like that of Courage or any other Fade entity he had ever encountered. At a closer look, he could see that the spirit's form was fully encased in plate armor, a surcoat decorated with ivy patterns and bearing a prominent fleur de lys was embroidered upon its chest and the helmet of both the warrior and its steed was adorned with what looked to be leaves. The spirit continued to silently give him its intense gaze for a moment before raising its sword to point towards him.

'You have been chosen, Gerod of the House of Caron, Knight of the Grey Wardens, for we are watching, for She is watching' cryptically replied the Spirit Knight.

'Who is watching?' the Grey Warden then said as he then felt the power that infused him begin to leave him. 'Who is "She"?' he asked and the Spirit Knight gave no response. Raising its sword high, the steed of the spirit then stood on its hind legs, it gave a single loud cry as the warrior struck a rather heroic pose.

'Carry yourself with chivalry and honor' answered the Spirit and as soon as the two front legs of its steed touched the ground, the Spirit Knight then quickly turned around and galloped off into the mist. After a few moments, there was a great flash of bright green light and it was gone, the only trace of its passing was the dead it left.

Along among the dead of the ruined town, Gerod felt both puzzled and perhaps a bit uneasy at this strange encounter. He then began to feel the familiar presence of Courage again and the Spirit soon materialized before him.

'That was no Spirit' spoke Courage and in its voice, Gerod heard a tone of both awe and curiosity.

'Then what was it?' asked the Grey Warden who was only answered with silence for the Spirit of Courage had no answer to give him.


End file.
